


Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset

by Hatsonhamburgers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 17 is age of consent, 1998, A probably wrong interpretation of the East End, AU in muggle London, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunkenness, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting high, Harry and Draco are not allowed to fight in the war, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of sexy times, M/M, Marijuana, Not Canon Compliant, Not compliant on that either, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychic Bond, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, The Trifecta, draco is sort of twinky, harry is repressed, lots of first times, smoking ciggarettes, veers off into alternate ending to book 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsonhamburgers/pseuds/Hatsonhamburgers
Summary: It's 1998, Dumbledore is dead, the Ministry has been taken by Death Eaters, and Draco Malfoy is brought to Grimmauld Place for his safety.Harry is murderously unhappy about this, even more so when he is forced to move into an apartment in Muggle London with Draco to hide out in the final weeks leading up to an inevitable battle.  They have to share a temporary bond to keep track of one another, and have been instructed to learn wandless magic to fly under the radar.Inspired by a song by Modest Mouse which was released in 1998.





	1. Harry Potter is the Boy Who Angst

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long one, folks, not gonna lie, I freaking love writing about the late 90's. There's probably a lot of continuity errors; just ignore them or offer to edit this beast. I know literally nothing about London except for what I read and see on TV. This isn't beta'd, and certainly not brit-picked. If you want to do it, hit me up ;) 

_Oh, noose_  
Tied my self in, tied myself too tight  
Looking kind of anxious in your cross-armed stance  
Like a bad-tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance 

 

CHAPTER 1  
Harry had eyes for only one person.

That person was Draco Malfoy.

Not only were his eyes trained on Malfoy, but so was his wand, his body straining against the hands that held him back. He fought his friends, wild curses flying off the tip of his wand, never hitting their mark. The sheer volume of magic radiating off of Harry caused the _Lumos_ lighting above them to flicker madly, green and red sparks raining down on them. As his eyes blurred with rage-filled tears, Harry collapsed on the floor of the front hall of 12 Grimmauld Place, defeated. For the moment.

The murderous gleam in his eye was met with disdain as Malfoy simply leaned against the faded, torn wallpaper of his ancestral home, arms crossed, face hard as stone. Malfoy looked gaunt, a shadow of himself, but to Harry, he was still the viper, still a threat, still the one who had managed to allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts and cause Dumbledore to be killed. It didn’t matter what his friends said, it didn’t matter that Tonks was slapping his face, trying to bring him to the present, or Remus was pulling his wand from his hand; his eyes remained on Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, Attempted Murderer.

He had to be locked in his room for his own safety, they said, and he couldn’t have his wand- for everyone else’s safety. Harry had screamed that _they_ were the ones in danger, but no one would listen. It was as if they’d forgotten that Snape killed Dumbledore just days ago- as if Malfoy hadn’t been the one to make that happen. 

Hagrid’s words flashed through his mind.

_“What musta happened was, Dumbledore musta told Snape ter go with them Death Eaters,” Hagrid had said confidently. “I suppose he’s gotta keep his cover. Look, let’s get yeh back up ter the school. Come on, Harry. . . .”_

He pushed those thoughts away. Why would Hagrid have such faith in Snape? It made no sense. Snape had killed Dumbledore in cold blood. Harry had seen it happen. Had felt the binding spell Dumbledore had placed on him fall when life left the Headmaster’s body.

Time passed without meaning. Hermione and Ron visited once or twice, one time bringing a golden snitch willed to him by Dumbledore, but Harry continued to ignore their pleas to talk to them. Harry missed his own birthday, and even Christmas- he didn’t care. He was finding it hard to care about much, really.

Harry knew that the Order would be leaving soon to go after the real locket of Salazar Slytherin. He knew that his so-called best friends would get to help go after the Horcruxes without him. Harry didn’t care. He refused food, drank little water, and clutched the snitch and stayed in Sirius’ bed, watching the sun rise and set with indifference. Hatred filled his heart, and he felt weak with it.

He wondered what the point of anything was anyway.

It wasn’t that in those months he felt specifically suicidal, it was that he really no longer cared if he lived or died. If he died, he might have a chance to see his parents. This wasn’t a new idea; he’d had that thought since he was a small child, locked in cupboard, alone in the dust and dark space. He’d thought there was a God that was punishing him; that’s what Aunt Petunia had told him, anyway, and it was hard not to believe it. Often times when he thought about dying, really dying, he’d stubbornly decide to live anyway, in spite of his Aunt and Uncle. He was defying them all, determined to find a way out one day.

The way out, of course, had come unexpectedly in the form of a letter delivered by an owl (or a hundred owls, to be honest), and a large man bearing the first birthday cake Harry’d ever received. Everything changed that day, and Harry remembered telling himself that no matter what, he’d stay alive. Magic was real, and that meant he was real. That he mattered. In fact, to learn how much he mattered in one day was so overwhelming that he shut it down, pushing the phrase ‘The Boy Who Lived’ into the back of him mind. He wanted to be real, but not that _important_.

Now it had become clearer. He was a pawn in a game, a bargaining chip to be used in the final battle- the prophecy had made that much clear. What remained muddy was why they wouldn’t just _let him go_. They thought he was stupid enough to run into Voldemort’s waiting arms? 

Maybe he was, he no longer even knew who Harry Potter was anymore. He went from important to the Wizarding World, to important to his friends, to important to his family (what little he had left had been torn from him), to being dehumanized to nothing but a pawn. He thought back to first year, when Ron had directed him to be the bishop on the chessboard. He was important then. He was useful. Now he was expendable, to be used to further the cause.

He believed in the cause, though, and knew it would save countless lives of muggles and wizards and witches alike, so who was he to be selfish and complain?

It was that new line of thinking that moved Harry onto accepting his fate. 

The next morning after that revelation, Harry opened his door and ate the food left for him there. An apple, a turkey sandwich, and a large goblet of pumpkin juice. Usually he’d just have a bite or two, forcing himself to swallow, but it always tasted bitter. As soon as the first bite passed his lips, he was ravenous, and he shoveled the rest into his mouth, barely chewing, washing it down with the juice. He sat, staring at his empty plate, breathing heavy as if he’d just run a race. He looked around to see if someone, maybe Kreacher, would appear to take his plate when he noticed a similar plate of food in front of a door across the hall. Passing on the thought of stealing it and eating it too, it dawned on him that it must belong to Malfoy.

So he was still there too. Anger roiled in Harry’s stomach, threatening to bring the food back up, but he pushed it down and went back into his room, looking for a clean towel. He probably smelled pretty ripe, considering he hadn’t had his wand to _scourgify_ with, and he’d been lax about hygiene for months, so a shower was in order before he faced whomever was downstairs. If anyone was still down there. 

It was as if the food had awoken something inside him and he felt a burst of energy halfway through his shower. As he washed himself, his thoughts turned toward sex for the first time in forever, and the urge to wank came up. He resisted, feeling guilty for wanting to feel anything good, and turned the shower on cold. The freezing water made short work of his erection, and he got out to dry off. 

He needed a haircut. It was the first time he’d looked in the mirror in ages, and he was shocked to see the reflection peering back at him. He looked so much older than the last time he’d seen himself, and he had quite a bit of scruff on his face. It wasn’t coming in evenly, but it was still thick enough to pass as a beard. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if he’d learned to shave without his wand anyway, so it would just have to keep growing. Maybe it would be a good enough disguise that they would let him go to the shops or something. 

He dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shapeless t shirt, tying a flannel plaid shirt around his waist. He didn’t bother with shoes as he padded down the stairs, skipping the trick step and jumping down the last flight. There was a light on in the kitchen, so he wandered in.

The big wooden table was empty but scrubbed clean. The sink was empty of dishes and it all around looked more clean than Harry had ever seen it. Was it Kreacher’s doing? Harry didn’t think the old elf had it in him to do more than dust the vile portrait of Walburga Black, so someone else had to have done it. He thought of Malfoy briefly, but dismissed it- he was rumored to be a slob to live with. Hermione had overheard Blaise Zabini complaining to Millicent Bulstrode as much. 

As if on cue, he heard footsteps descending the stairs. His hackles rose, and he automatically reached for the wand he didn’t have. _Shit._ How was he supposed to defend himself?

He ran quickly to the side of the doorway, out of sight and waited. Malfoy emerged, and Harry pounced.

“Aaah! Get off!” Malfoy hit the ground, Harry landing on him in a rough tackle. Malfoy fought to flip over, and in Harry’s haste, he’d forgotten how little he’d eaten recently, so Malfoy managed to trade their positions. 

“Stop, Potter, you cretin!” he shouted as Harry swung at him. He missed the first time, but managed to hit Malfoy with a wild swing from his left fist, a loud smack echoing through the kitchen. Malfoy fell to the right, and Harry used it to his advantage and rolled them until he was on top again. He punched Malfoy’s face, hitting him in the eye. His hand burst with pain, but he ignored it and punched again, hitting Malfoy’s arm as he raised it to protect his face. Harry knew he had an unfair advantage of knowing how to fight the muggle way, but he was in a blind fury, throwing his fists while someone screamed. It might have been him.

“Dobby!” Malfoy shrieked with a mouthful of blood, spraying some onto Harry’s face.

There was a crack as the air changed around them, and a gasp, followed by Harry being roughly levitated off of Malfoy and placed at the far end of the kitchen. He sprawled, out of breath, and glared at the elf that stood between him and his target. Dobby looked back at him with sorrow in his eyes, a hand held out in warning, but unmoving.

Malfoy sat up, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and scooted back to lean against the wall. He turned his head away, pulling his knees up to his chest, looking smaller than Harry had seen him, even when they were younger. Malfoy had always seemed so big to Harry, like the looming adversary in school, a hidden threat. But now, he looked as defeated as Harry felt. 

“Harry Potter must not be hitting Master Draco. Dobby has to be stopping you,” Dobby said carefully. Harry thought about knocking the House Elf out of the way to get at his target, but then felt guilty because of how good Dobby had been to him, especially concerning the Malfoys.

“Why are you protecting him?” Harry argued, “He’s not your master anymore, you’re free, Dobby!”

“Now Harry Potter must be not angry with Dobby, Dobby is doing what Dobby can to help the Order of the Phoenix,” Dobby stated proudly. “Dobby is to care for Harry Potter and Master Draco until Missus Molly returns. The Missus Molly be telling about what happens next.”

Harry sagged against the oven and sighed. Seeing Molly Weasley would do wonders for how he was feeling. He eyed Malfoy. 

“What the bloody hell is _he_ still doing here?” Harry asked, even though he hardly cared.

“Master Draco is under the protection of the Order. Dobby is to be protecting him too, until Master Snape is able to move Master Draco to muggle London.”

“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU BE PROTECTING SNAPE!” Harry screamed, noting with some satisfaction that he made Malfoy flinch.

“Dobby is being told by Remus Lupin that Harry Potter might not be understanding why this is, so Dobby is telling why this is. It is very secret things, and Dobby is very good with secret things, Harry Potter.”

There was a pause as Dobby seemed to be gathering his thoughts. 

“Master Snape has been very secret, he has been helping the Order and the Dark Lord is not knowing.”

Harry shook his head adamantly. “Am I the only one who remembers that Snape killed Dumbledore? Am I the only one who thinks this is crazy? Absolutely bonkers?”

“I remember it quite well,” came a quiet, rueful voice from across the room. Harry opened his mouth to scream back, but Dobby held up his hand again.

“Harry Potter must understand Master Draco is not to be hurt. Master Draco left the Manor for good, so Harry Potter must understand that Snape is protecting Master Draco from the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is wanting to kill Master Draco, and Grimmauld is the place where he is safe. Dobby can’t tell Harry Potter more, but Missus Molly is being here soon.”

Harry deflated, suddenly exhausted and weak. “Okay, Dobby. I won’t hit him anymore. But he has to stay out of my way, or I can’t be responsible for what happens.” He directed his last comment across the kitchen, but Malfoy still didn’t look at him. Dobby came closer, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling it close. Harry hissed in pain, suddenly aware he must have broken bones in his hand when he hit Malfoy. He didn’t care, Malfoy deserved worse. 

Dobby muttered a few words and Harry jumped as the bones snapped back into place. It hurt still, but more of a dull ache. Dobby shuffled over to where Malfoy sat, presumably to heal him as well. Harry stood, getting a headrush immediately, swayed on his feet, then strode to the door, stomping up the steps. He heard Dobby’s low voice as he walked away.

“Harry Potter is not understanding yet, Master Draco, it is taking some time.”

Malfoy snorted, and Harry gritted his teeth, stomping up the stairs as loudly as he could.

********

The sun was setting by the time Harry heard a light tapping on his door. Molly Weasley walked in, carrying a tray of her delicious mince pies and set them on Harry’s bedside table. He sat up and fell into her open arms, accepting her comfort. It was nice to have human contact after denying himself for so long, and to Harry’s horror, tears began to well up in his eyes, and he felt powerless to stop them from falling.

“There, there, Harry dear, let it all out,” Molly said gently, rocking him through his sobs. It went on for several minutes, her just holding him while he cried and snotted on her shoulder, until he was out of tears and was left with hiccups. She pulled back, pulling a handkerchief from her dress and mopping up his face. He blew his nose, feeling guilting for enjoying the little motherly attention he was getting. This wasn’t the first time he had to crawl in her lap and cry, and he was forever grateful for it. 

“Harry, we need to talk about Draco,” she said, blunt as usual. “He’s here because Severus brought him here, and you musn’t attack him like that, he’s in no better shape than you. He’s only just starting to eat again, as well, and you have to remember he has no allies here. Severus can’t be here, and Draco is all alone.”

Harry was confused. “I don’t understand. He tried to kill Dumbledore-”

“Did he kill Dumbledore?”

“No, but-”

“Harry, did he actually kill Dumbledore?” Molly was looking at him with infinite patience.

Harry sighed. “No, he didn’t.”

She nodded. “He was never meant to. He was given an impossible task by You Know Who, and it was always Snape who intended to complete the task.”

“ _Complete the task?_ Are you serious? Killing Dumbledore wasn’t-”

“Harry,” she said firmly. “Listen to me. Draco was being used by You Know Who- He was furious with Lucius Malfoy for what happened at the Ministry, about the prophecy. You Know Who knew Draco would fail, and he would kill Mrs. Malfoy as a punishment. According to Severus-”

“How can you possibly trust what he says? He killed-”

“Harry,” Molly said, sharply this time. “Dumbledore was dying. He was only months away from dying from a curse. Severus was keeping him alive as long as he could with potions, but touching the Gaunt ring, one of the Horcruxes, cursed him and he was dying.”

Harry sat back, stunned. He remembered the Headmaster’s blackened fingers and knew he must have tried to put the ring on. Dumbledore had spoken wryly about the ring, a look of regret in his eye. He had been so casual when he spoke with Malfoy in the tower, giving him an out.

“And Snape was tasked with killing him,” Harry whispered, “to save Malfoy from having to do it.”

“Yes. Dumbledore was positive Draco wouldn’t be able to kill him, that he wasn’t a killer. Isn’t a killer,” she said decisively.

Harry shook his head. “But he tried to kill Katie Bell, and then Ron-”

At the mention of her son’s name, something dark flickered across Molly’s face. “Tried is a strong word. The cursed necklace wasn’t strong enough to kill anyone, and the poison was feeble at best, Severus swore he was keeping an eye on that situation.”

“Just because Malfoy’s incompetent, doen’t mean he didn’t _want_ them to die-”

“Harry, dear, think. _Really think._ ” Molly waited, a pensive look on her face.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration, pushing up his glasses and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Think. All he did was think! Thinking was not his friend!

He thought back to the train to Hogwarts at the start of term, and what Malfoy said to his friends. There was contempt in his voice, but something else. It could have been fear… And resignation. Then he thought about the nights he spent, sitting up in bed, Marauder's Map in his lap, watching Malfoys footsteps disappear into the Room of Requirement, and staying awake until the early morning, waiting for them to reemerge. He thought about the way Malfoy would sometimes just stare into space blankly until one of his mates would snap him out of it. The way Malfoy cried in the bathroom, the sound confusing Harry momentarily, and the way he bled on the floor. Harry stomach lurched and he pushed the thought away. But wait, Snape had been there, hadn’t he? Protecting Malfoy? Coming to his rescue…

“Snape made some sort of oath, or something, didn’t he?” Harry mumbled to himself. 

“Yes, he did. He had to, Mrs. Malfoy needed to know Draco wouldn’t be killed in his mission that was doomed to fail, and You Know Who had to know that the mission would be carried out regardless. Draco Malfoy is a boy, barely an adult, the same as you, and you need to try and start to see him as such if we are to move forward with the plan.”

“What plan?” Harry was suddenly weary.

“We think Grimmauld Place might have been compromised. Sometime this evening, Severus will be back, and the two of you will be moved into a safehouse in East London, I believe-”

“Wait, us? As in me and Malfoy?”

“ _Malfoy and I_ ,” she corrected automatically, “and yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

Harry’s mouth hung open, trying to wrap his mind around having to stay close proximity longer with his enemy. Sort-of enemy. Well certainly not ally. Or friend. Fuck.

 

Molly seemed to find it a natural close to the conversation, and gave him a short hug. “There, now dear, pack your trunk, and I’ll go have a talk with Draco.”

Harry hardly registered her words until she was gone and he heard a muffled yell. He sprang from his bed and ran to the hall, cursing not having a wand. He paused with his hand on the door. It was Malfoy that yelled, so he waited.

“-expect me to live with that monster? He tried to kill me again, you know, just this morning.”

Molly said something, low and urgent, but Harry couldn’t make out the words.

“But he hates me! The first second he gets he’ll-”

More words from Molly, then Malfoy answering in a lower tone that Harry couldn’t hear. He retreated back into his room. Malfoy wasn’t wrong, Harry had murder on his mind that first night and again this morning. He thought back on how it felt to be sitting on top of Malfoy, swinging his fists, feeling powerful and _righteous._ He felt a stirring in his pants, and tugged at the fabric of his jeans. Was he getting off on punching someone? That wasn’t right, that was fucked up, even for him. It was probably that he hadn’t wanked in forever, and any contact had him excited. It not that he would ever think about Malfoy _that way,_ he was a teenage boy, after all, and he’d had fantasies about nearly every girl in his grade. Well, everyone except Hermione. That would be gross. She was basically his sister. 

Admittedly, he’d had a phase in fifth year where he’d imagine himself grabbing Malfoy by that stupid Inquisitor badge and pushing him against a wall, fighting turning into snogging, but it never got further than that in his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure why he thought snogging Malfoy would count as some sort of revenge- Seamus had called having sex with someone you hate ‘grudge-fucking’, but Seamus’ sexual information was about as faulty as a 15 year old’s could be expected.

Harry was pretty sure people who hated each other didn’t _ever_ snog, let alone have sex. It just didn’t make sense. 

Harry pulled his trunk out from under the bed and rummaged through it. It was still basically packed, but he threw in a few more things in case he’d be gone for awhile. A few school books (if he didn’t pack them, Hermione would kill him), his spare glasses, the Marauder’s map, and the photo of his parents were added, and he slammed it shut. Feeling very bereft without his wand, he dragged the heavy trunk across the rug to the door. He didn’t know what time they were leaving, so he figured he’d take a nap. All the fighting and lack of eating had worn him out. He flopped back on the bed and fell asleep.

********

“Potter.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut harder.

“Potter, wake up,” a voice hissed in his ear.

Harry reached for his wand and swung his fist as he opened his eye, both actions coming up empty. 

The light beside his bed was illuminated, and Malfoy stood by it, scowling with his arms folded. Dobby must have patched his face up after the fight because, as usual, Malfoy looked impeccable in his black tailored suit, his hair swept back perfectly, manicured nails tapping on his folded arm. 

Malfoy’s frown deepened, and Harry realized he’d been staring.

“What do you want, Malfoy,” Harry growled, clenching his fists to keep from striking out.

“Severus is downstairs and sent me to fetch you. We are to leave immediately.”

Harry twitched an eyebrow. “Are we now? What if I don’t want to go?”

“Don’t have much of a choice,” Malfoy said, looking bored and leaning on the wall. “If it were up to me, I’d leave you here for when the Death Eaters broke through the wards. I’m sure you can handle them yourself, you _are_ a very famous wizard now, aren’t you?”

“If you hadn’t noticed, the Death Eaters are already inside,” Harry said pointedly, “and you can fuck right off. I’ll be down when I damn well please.”

“Whatever, scarhead. Wait until Snape comes to get you and you can deal with that.” Malfoy turned to leave, pausing by the door. “I’ll tell them to wait until you change.”

“Change clothing? Why would I do that?” Harry looked down at his t shirt. It was a bit wrinkled, but clean. 

Malfoy looked incredulous. “Because you look _homeless_ , Potter. Have you even bothered to look in a mirror? Your hair is horrendous. And I won’t even get started about your whiskers.”

Harry was speechless. He was almost positive this was a dream, except he could smell Malfoy’s hair potion, and he didn’t recall being able to smell anything in a dream.

Malfoy gave him another once-over and shook his head, leaving the room.

Harry stood, running his hands through his hair, trying to tame it a bit. He really did need a haircut. He stuffed his feet into has ratty trainers and dragged his trunk out the door, scraping it along the floor with a horrible screech, pulling it down the stairs, letting it slam hard on each step. It was childish, but he couldn’t give a damn at that point.

The trunk was yanked from his hand and levitated to the first floor. He sighed and followed, pretty much resigned to whatever came next, knowing he had no choice anymore. 

What else was new.

Snape stood by the floo in the front room, looking as sour as ever. Remus was pointing to a map of muggle London, talking quietly with Molly. Snape kept his eyes fixed on the wallpaper, only stiffening slightly when Harry entered the room. Malfoy was draped across Harry’s favorite chair, looking a cross between bored and angry, which couldn’t have been easy to pull off. It wasn’t the first time Harry’ had seen that look; he could be a professor of a class dedicated to the study of Malfoy’s expressions. Sitting across from him for years had given Harry a lot of insight, especially since Malfoy wore his emotions on his sleeve.

Remus noticed Harry when Malfoy’s eyes flickered to Harry and away.

“Harry!” Remus said, smiling warmly. “It’s good to see you up and about. Are you hungry? Molly’s packed you a lunch for the journey. You should be able to get provisions once you arrive.”

“Can I have my wand?” Harry held his hand out, bypassing any pleasantries. He was still sore about the situation, even at Remus.

“No, you cannot have your wand,” Snape’s nasally voice boomed, “honesty Potter, it’s as if you haven’t any brain left in your head at all. The Ministry has fallen under the control of the Dark Lord, and your wands can be tracked.”

Harry held tightly on the the rage in his chest. He knew with his intellect that Snape was on their side, but the primal part of himself still wanted to rip his face off.

“Problem, Potter?” Snape sneered, “is all that the Order risked not good enough? Have not enough sacrifices been made in your name? You are not the only one who bears loss.”

“Severus,” Remus stepped between them, blocking Harry’s view. “This is neither the place nor the time. We need to get the boys out of here, and soon.”

Harry could almost feel Snape roll his eyes. It was if nothing had changed. Snape still hated Harry and treated him like scum, and Harry hated him right back, knowing whatever he did or said would get shit on and used against him. 

Snape sighed through his nose. “Well let’s get on with the spell, then.” 

Harry looked back and forth between Remus and Snape, unable to catch Remus’ eye.

“What spell, Remus, what spell?” Harry asked, moving closer.

Remus looked abashed. “We have to place a spell on the two of you. In order to keep the other from running off, your magic will be bound together. This is very important-”

“What,” Harry said flatly, “makes you think I’d be okay with that.”

“It’s not like I want to do it either, Potter, get over yourself, it’s just temporary,” Malfoy drawled from Harry’s chair. “They’ll remove it when we get there.” 

Harry shot him a scowl. Snape motioned Malfoy to stand and the two to face each other. Malfoy held his right hand out, as if to shake it, and Harry just looked at it. He flashed back on the first day of first year to a very similar scene. He’d often wondered what would have happened if he’d taken Malfoy’s hand that day, if he’d been sorted into Slytherin. 

Harry sighed and took his hand. It was warm and soft, the heat from Malfoy’s hand increasing as Harry held it. Snape flipped his long robe sleeves out of the way and began the incantation. Harry watched their hands, waiting for something to happen, but he didn’t feel any different. He looked up at Malfoy, meeting his gaze, locking on his grey eyes. Malfoy’s face was carefully blank, but he didn’t look away. Harry assumed it would be just another staring contest, no different that the thousand others they’d had, but being so close this time was different. He could see a freckle in Malfoy’s left eye, a tiny speck of a blemish on the physical perfection that was Malfoy-

Harry blushed and looked away. He’d not meant to think that. Malfoy was a pointy git. Not an ugly point git, but definitely not perfection. He glanced up again to see a small smirk on Malfoy’s face. That bastard. Probably thinks he won something. Arsehole. 

Snape’s nasally voice droned on in latin, drawing his wand over the boys’ hands. Harry began to feel his magic well up in his palm, tingling and flowing through him. An odd sensation began to push through where his skin made contact with Malfoy’s. He looked up to see a mirror of his surprise in Malfoy’s face. Then it faded and disappeared as Snape lowered his wand.

Harry dropped Malfoy’s hand. They both wiped the clamminess off on their clothing, and looked away.

“What’s this bond thing supposed to feel like, then?” Harry flexed his fingers, still not feeling anything. 

“Not much, really,” Snape said with a sneer. “It ensures you will not be able to hurt my godson, or abandon him in Muggle London. If you cause him pain, you will feel it, and the same goes for him. You ought stay within 50 feet of one another, so no wandering about or it will make you ill. I will come back to remove it after the first week, provided you have behaved yourselves and no one is dead.”

“A week!” Harry exclaimed, “I have to look for the real locket-”

“It’s been located and removed from the Ministry, Harry,” said Remus. “We have our people working on it as we speak. In fact, the little escapade pulled by Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Weasley is the very reason we have it, but also the reason we have Death Eaters at our doorstep.”

“Hermione and Ron? And oh dear Merlin, have they pulled poor Neville into this-” 

“They are fine, I assure you. Returned to the Burrow for the time being.” Remus turned to Molly, taking a packet of papers she handed him. “Now here are your muggle items, Hermione helped put them together, she really is quite clever-” Malfoy snorted. “-and you have identification, muggle money in cash, and something called a ‘credit card.’ Looks like a bit of plastic, but she assured me it could be used to pay for things and the bill would pull from an anonymous account at Gringotts.” Remus handed the packet to Harry, save Malfoy’s ID.

Malfoy held it up, eyebrow twitching. “Drew Mathews? Kind of an odd sounding name, isn’t it? I’m not trying to draw attention to myself.”

Harry rolled his eyes and checked his own. Paul Winters. Hmm. Nothing at all close to Harry Potter. He smirked because he knew Hermione must have made Malfoy’s so similar to his own because he would be easier to recognize. Funny.

The credit card had his name on it as well, along with an envelope of a few hundred quid. Harry blinked. That was a lot of money.

“Exactly how long do you think we’ll have to stay in hiding?” He asked Lupin.

Draco stood and came to look over Harry’s shoulder. Harry stiffened. 

“Is that a lot of muggle money?” He muttered, reaching out to take it. Harry pulled it away. Draco rolled his eyes and plunked back into the chair, resuming his scowl.

Remus was shrugging at Molly, seeming at a loss for words.

Molly’s lips were pressed together in a firm line. 

“Harry, dear, it’s very important that the Order keep you safe until this is over. You and Draco will remain hidden and safe until Shacklebolt and the others deem it safe to move again.”

“But I want to fight, I want to help!” Even Harry could hear the whine in his voice.

“Of course you do,” Snape drawled. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on you coming to save the day, now would we, Potter. You know, it is possible that perhaps you crashing around like an erumphant is a little less subtle than we need right now. The Order is perfectly capable of getting the job done. You’d be lucky just to get yourself killed instead of captured. You have no idea what the Dark Lord is capable of.”

Harry’s hackles raised and he grit his teeth together, eyes narrowed. His voice was low and dangerous as he addressed Snape.

“You think I wanted to be this...thing? Some hero tool? You think I have lived some kind of charmed life? Was a celebrity waiting to get my photo in the paper? I barely _lived_ before I came to Hogwarts, and I will fight to the death for our world. And I don’t give a _fuck_ what you think of me, ‘cause it sure as hell can’t be worse than what I think of myself.”

The room was deathly silent. The shock on Snape’s face was worth the scolding he’d get later from Molly for swearing. 

Harry felt a warm hand on his back. He turned to see the stricken face of Tonks before she pulled him into a tight hug. At first Harry tried to fight her, but soon gave up and surrendered to her warmth, her kindness. He fought tears, it wasn’t the time for that, he had a train to catch apparently.

Tonks pulled back and grabbed him by the chin and held him still. “I know the feeling of being alone- of being a freak- more than anyone, except maybe Remus. I know the feeling of the uselessness of it all, the pointlessness of going on. But you promise me this, Harry Potter,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You keep fighting the monsters in your head and let us take care of the ones out here. You are very important to all of us, not as some hero tool, but as our family. And I’ll not see you torture yourself thinking of us any other way. You fight to stay alive for us if not for you. Can you do that?”

Harry fought the tears. “Yeah, I can do that,” his voice quavered. 

“Good,” Tonks said. “No offense, but you’re just a kid. It’s not right to throw you in the midst of all this war shit. Am I right, Severus?” She raised her eyebrows at Snape.

Harry bit a smile back when Snape just scowled at her, looking a little like a dark version of Draco.

Harry’s eyes skittered to Draco, catching him staring with his mouth parted and eyes wide. Draco quickly looked at his fingernails.

“Alright,” Remus said, clapping his hands together, breaking the mood, “time for goodbyes, must get a move on.”

The hugs and goodbyes were quick, and soon Harry found himself alone with Snape and Malfoy, the two looking very out of place in the London Underground. The black figures stood out against a sea of muggles dressed in brightly colored jumpers and coats, who moved about without giving them so much as a glance. It had to be a notice-me-not charm.

“I’d say good luck, but luck has nothing to do with it. Just keep your heads down, and keep your magic in check. You cannot be traced without your wands, but you both need to practice your wandless magic so there aren’t any wild magic reports giving you away to the Ministry. I will find you in a week- here’s the address of your flat. It’s heavily warded, but you should be able to come and go without a problem. It’s a muggle flat, but I assume, Potter, you can show Draco how to use the appliances.”

Harry nodded, a bit overwhelmed. He glanced at Malfoy- he looked downright terrified. “Yeah, no problem,” Harry said soothingly, wondering why he gave a fuck about Malfoy’s comfort. 

Malfoy’s eyes were flickering around the crowded platform, his breathing becoming rapid. Harry could feel a small invisible pull from his direction- it must have been the bond. 

“I shall take my leave of you now,” Snape muttered. “I will contact you in a week.”

With a swirl of robes, he disappeared into the crowd. Harry glanced at Malfoy. He was white as paper, and his chest was heaving. Harry could feel the panic coming off of him in waves. He realized Draco might never have been around so many muggles before.

“Come on,” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm and pulled the Travel cards from the packet. They waited in the queue and he punched his and Draco’s both. Malfoy just stumbled after him, looking a bit glazed over, but stayed tight to Harry’s side. Harry kept his hand wrapped around Malfoy’s bicep, feeling a current flowing between them.

Harry pushed a little calm assurance through the contact and felt Draco relax slightly. 

They found seats near the back of the carriage. Draco jumped when the voice declared, “mind the gap,” and he clutched Harry’s knee when the doors slid shut and the train began to move. Harry watched him in amusement. It was funny how he’d never considered that Draco would be so alien in the muggle world- that all he’d ever known had been ripped away.

Harry let go of his arm and removed Draco’s hand from his knee. He was not going to feel sympathetic to the arsehole, bond or not.

Malfoy started, and seemed to come back to himself. He shifted away from Harry and seemed to be studying a sign on the wall to their right. 

“Sexually transmitted- what the fuck, Potter,” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting. So muggles can get ill from sex? Hmm. Not surprised.” He folded his arms and resumed a more familiar Malfoy expression: Empirical Disdain. It was almost comforting.

“They don’t have magic to protect themselves, you prat. The National Health puts up notices to encourage them to use protection.” The conversation was so weird, Harry had to smile a little.

“What is a con-dom? Is it like a muggle charm? How does that work?” Malfoy faced Harry, lips pursed, waiting for an answer.

Harry flushed. “Merlin, Malfoy, I’m not going to explain how a bloody muggle condom works! Ask Snape next time you see him.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know either, do you? Not surprised really.” He looked forward. “And I’d never ask Severus that, it would be crude.”

“And asking me isn’t?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Alright, a condom is made of a rubber-like material and it’s rolled over your cock before sex. It puts protection between you and the girl so she doesn’t get up the duff.” That was only slightly mortifying. At least Draco looked horrified.

“Get up the what?”

Harry sniggered. “Get pregnant. If you don’t use protection, you could get a STI or get a girl pregnant.”

“What about two men, do they use these condoms? Surely pregnancy isn’t an issue, and if both are disease free, is it necessary?” Draco was turned in his seat again, head tilted innocently.

Harry flushed hard. “Why the bloody hell would you ask me that? I don’t know, you tosser!”

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to see right through Harry. “That makes you uncomfortable,” he stated.

“Of course you-” Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Can we just drop it?” He looked around, making sure no one had heard that.

“Of course,” Malfoy said rolling his eyes and crossing his arms again. “Let’s drop it before I get any useful information out of you.”

Harry sputtered. “Why is that useful information?” Harry knew the answer even before Draco turned to look at him as if he were an idiot.

“How am I supposed to know the proper etiquette if I want to shag a muggle?”

Harry hushed him, glancing around. “I don’t think that’d be very smart considering we are in hiding. Besides, I thought you hate muggles.”

Draco snorted. “I hate _muggleborns_ , Potter, there is a difference.”

“What?”

Draco spoke slowly as if he were speaking to a toddler. “Muggleborns are slowly turning our world into the muggle world. Soon, no one will wear robes anymore, or use a wireless. Wizards will go to foot-bell games and all of our history will be lost and forgotten. You would do well to marry a pureblood witch, Harry, lest our heritage disappear and we all become squibs.”

Harry momentarily forgot that Draco had basically just said he was gay, and shook his head.

“You really think that?”

“Of course I do. Just because I won’t cater to a homicidal maniac and murder people for him doesn’t mean I’ve completely abandoned my ideals,” he sneered. “A thousand years of Malfoy history lost? I think not.”

“So you’re marrying a pureblood witch?” Harry asked, confused by all of it.

“Of course! The Malfoy line is one of the Sacred 28, we’re basically royalty in the Wizard world.”

Harry shook his head again. “But you...want to know about sex...with muggle men?”

Draco sighed through his nose. “Idiot. I marry to produce an heir. The Greengrass youngest is in a marriage contract with me already. She is a fine witch and I will give her an heir.” He paused to flip his hair out of his eyes, and scanned the carriage. “Fucking men is what I prefer, so that’s why I need to know.”

Harry stared at him with his jaw unhinged. He was silent for so long, Malfoy finally turned to look at him.

“What?”

Harry closed his mouth and swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “Er, I didn’t know that’s- I didn’t know you were…”

“A poofter?” Malfoy snorted inelegantly. “Of course I am, where have you been?”

Harry blinked. “I thought you and Pansy were…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Pansy is my oldest friend. We went to the ball together because we look so damn good, fuck everyone who asked either of us.”

“Who asked you to the ball?” Harry was staring. How had he missed what went on in Slytherin? 

“Oh, a few. Olaf, the lad from Durmstrang, for one. Not my type, too hairy.”

Harry fought the urge to rub at his scruff. “Your type?” He wished he would stop asking questions. He didn't need this information floating around in his head.

“Yes, my type. I won’t let just anyone touch me.” Malfoy raised a hand an waggled his fingers at someone across the carriage. Harry whipped around. There was a young man sitting across from them, eyeing Draco like he was good enough to eat. Harry narrowed his eyes at the bloke until he looked away. He turned back to Draco.

“Stop that. We’re trying to remain inconspicuous.”

A slow smile slid across Draco’s face. “Jealous?”

Harry choked, blushing harder than ever. “No! Of course not, I’m into birds not blokes, Christ, Malfoy.”

“Sure…” Malfoy drawled, winking at the man over Harry’s shoulder. “And you followed me around the entire school year because…?”

Harry darkened. “Because I thought you were up to something. I was right, wasn’t I?”

A shadow crossed Draco’s sharp featured and he seemed to stiffen a bit. “Potter, can we not-”

Harry put his hand up in a halting gesture. “Not the place or time, I know. Just shut it, alright? Our stop is coming up.”

They rode in silence for the last leg of their trip. Draco kept staring straight ahead, and Harry only snuck glances at him.

They exited to a platform that stank of urine. Harry only had heard of the East End of London- its reputation was criminal, but if there was any place to hide in London, this was it. 

They took the stairs quickly, and Harry kept a sharp eye out, looking for any possible threats. Most of the passengers that got off with them scattered, and kept their heads down, tired from a long day of labor in the city. The locals were gathered on stoops and corners, laughing and smoking pot, uncaring about the law. Police generally left the area alone unless called, so Harry could see the validity of hiding in the East End.

“Here, Mr. Winters,” a heavy female Chinese accent behind them drew their attention. Harry remembered he was Paul Winters.

“Yes, can I help you?” Harry bristled and Draco hid behind him. Snape hadn’t mentioned a contact in the neighborhood.

“You come with me. Flat here,” she pointed at a building across the street. Harry pulled his ID out and saw she was correct. “I Mrs. Wong. Squib. You move quick, ok? Get settle.” She kept rambling as she started to cross the street. Harry shrugged at Malfoy and they followed her. 

“I first floor. You boys stay third floor. You need me, call number on phone, okay?”

Harry nodded and accepted a key ring with two identical keys on it. She was in the door of her flat and had it shut in seconds. Harry and his new flatmate stood in the dingy hallway staring at the closed door. It all had happened so quickly. 

Malfoy snatched the keys from Harry’s hand and started up the stairs.

The stairwell was dark and smelled musty. It was swept clean, and the rail shone in the dim light from the doorway. Harry followed Draco up three flights of cramped stairs until they ended, two doors on either side. Number 5. 

Number 6 had the distinct smell of curry wafting under the door. Harry’s stomach growled as they walked into the dark flat. He shut the door and turned the lock.

“Dammit all, I want my wand!” Draco proclaimed before turning in a circle under the light fixture in the ceiling.

Harry snorted and flipped the light switch. “Lumos,” he said sarcastically. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and walked to the window.

“What’s this?” he asked. “It’s quite a bit of iron steps, but not a veranda or anything as such. It looks as though it could fall any moment.” He slid open the large window with a creek, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He looked at Harry. “Well?”

“It’s a fire escape, you know, in case of fire we can...escape,” he finished lamely.

“Well the air is quite nice out here,” Malfoy seemed to say to himself as he climbed out. The metal creaked a little but it settled. He stood with his back to the railing carelessly, and lit a cigarette. Harry shook his head and went to the kitchenette to see what had been left for them.

He wandered through the living room space, noting their trunks already stacked by the sofa. There was a low coffee table and a telly. 

The kitchen was at the far side of the living room, just a line of appliances; an oven, a fridge, the sink, and a cupboard. An electric kettle and a toaster sat on the counter, alongside a muggle radio and a microwave. There was no automatic dishwasher. Harry opened the fridge. There was milk, butter, jam, and a bag of lemons. Did Snape think they could survive on tea and toast? He moved to the cabinet and sighed. A loaf of bread, a bag of potatoes, and several canned foods lined the shelves, along with plates and cups and such. Harry would do an inventory of food later, but he was starving. A trip back to the freezer found frozen chicken breasts and ground beef. 

“What do you want for supper?” Harry called over his shoulder.

“Whatever’s fine,” Malfoy was directly behind him, making Harry jump.

“Merlin’s knickers, Malfoy, you scared the piss out of me!” Harry leaned on the counter, holding his chest and willing his heart to slow down. He breathed deep and tried again. “Do you want chicken pot pie or shepherd's pie?”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand anything you just said, but if you insist on making me eat, I’ll take tea and toast.” He pushed at his trunk with the toe of his shoe and then picked up the end, dragging it across the floor loudly into the bedroom and closed the door. 

“Make your own tea, you tosser,” Harry muttered. He grabbed the beef and popped it in the microwave on defrost, moving to grab cans of vegetables and cream of mushroom soup. He searched for a casserole under the sink, and found all of the cookware.

“What the fuck?” Malfoy’s voice rang out from the room. Harry abandoned his cooking and went to see what the prat was complaining about now.

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned. There was only one bed in the only bedroom. 

“I’m sure the sofa will be acceptable for you,” Draco sad placatingly, “I’m sure you are more acquainted with discomfort.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry clenched his fists, knowing exactly what it meant.

“Well,” Malfoy’s eyes flickered to Harry’s hands. He blinked. “You grew up muggle? Whereas I have only ever slept in a bed and-”

“Maybe you should try sleeping on the sofa then,” Harry gritted. “To experience something new.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sleeping on the bed tonight and we’ll discuss terms of switching tomorrow.”

The microwave dinged, and Harry went back to work. Draco followed him, looking puzzled. 

“Does the bell mean dinner is served?”

“No,” Harry said as he pulled the thawed meat from the microwave. “I’ve only begun. Get out of the way.”

Malfoy held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sure, Potter, whatever. I like my tea with-”

“Two sugars and a splash of milk,” Harry mouthed along with him, rolling his eyes. He grabbed the kettle and filled it halfway and pushed the lever. Tea was in the cabinet- Earl Gray- and sugar was in packets in a drawer along with other condiments from take-away. He grabbed salt and pepper while he was at it and threw the meat into a skillet. Soon the kettle went off and he poured a mug for himself and Malfoy, black for himself. He was lucky to ever sneak a cup when he was in the Dursley’s, let alone sugar and milk with it, so he became accustomed to having it black. He still felt the weird urge to look over his shoulder as he sipped his cup, as if Aunt Petunia would jump out of the pantry and slap it out of his hand. 

He sat the other mug on the dining table for Malfoy and went back to stir the meat and season it. There were no dried herbs in the pantry, so he put that on a mental list for a trip to the store in the morning. 

As he built the base for the crustless shepherd’s pie, his list grew longer, and as soon as he popped the mashed potato-topped casserole into the oven, he searched for a bit of paper to make an actual list.

A faded armchair stood by itself in the corner, with a side table and dial telephone on it. Harry went over and opened the small drawer in the table, finding a Bible and a small pad of paper. He poked back in there further, and a pen rolled forward. He smiled to himself as he sat to write out a list.

Malfoy was sitting in the window smoking. He was humming to himself and stirring his tea with a spoon from three feet away by absently twirling his finger. Harry rolled his eyes at the wandless magic display. He was sure if he practiced, he could manage a simple charm like that too. 

He added ‘flour’ to his list- he might need it to make a rue for soup. The potatoes would make a nice soup- he added ‘ground sausage’ and ‘celery’. 

“Malfoy,” Harry called without looking up.

“Yes?”

“How do you take your eggs?” 

Malfoy snickered and Harry looked up. Draco was smirking that same way he had always done while across the Great Hall for so many years. Harry felt a shiver up his spine.

“What?” Harry asked.

Malfoy flicked his ash out the window, still smirking. “That’s usually what one would ask when having someone over.”

Harry blinked. “A guest?”

“No, Potter, you nunce, when you have someone overnight. You _have_ them. In bed. With fucking.” Draco waved his hand as he spoke, the orange of the cigarette making trails in the air. 

Harry scowled at him. “Is everything about sex with you? I’m making a shopping list for fuck’s sake.”

Malfoy shrugged with one shoulder and took a drag on his smoke. “Sex is everything. You’d know too if you ever had it.”

“Fuck off,” Harry growled, standing to check the pie though he knew it wasn’t ready.

“I plan to,” Draco said smoothly. “Just as soon as our little probation period is over here, I plan to hit the clubs and pull. You ever do that, Potter? Go out and try your luck? Bet not. Bet it’s just you and your hand every night, having it off in the shower. Or maybe Granger does it for you, ay?”

Harry clenched his fists and said nothing.

“No, I guess not that nosey know-it-all mudblood. Or maybe you like the ginger ones, maybe Weasley is your cup of tea.”

“Shut the fuck up Malfoy,” Harry growled. 

“Yes, I can see it now,” Draco smirked, “Weasley’s head bobbing in your lap as he sucks you off, like the good little lap dog that he is-”

Harry had his hand around Draco’s throat before he’d realized he moved. Malfoy yelped and dropped his cigarette.

“Oi, shut your fucking gob, Malfoy, before I shut it for you!”

The feeling of his own throat closing brought Harry back to himself. He let go and backed up, still shaking. Draco smoothed out his shirt with a slight tremble in his hands. Harry stepped back again and turned to the kitchen again. Why did he let Draco wind him up so much?

The shepherd’s pie finished cooking in a silent room. Harry pulled it from the oven and set it on the hob to cool. He pulled two plates from the cupboard and set the table, scooping a large portion of pie on each.

He sat down and began eating without saying a word to Malfoy. Harry leaned on an arm curved around his plate, and dug in quickly. Hermione had mentioned it only once, in first year, that he ate like someone would take his food away- he hadn’t known how to respond, and she apologized and dropped it. Only Ron knew how the Dursleys had treated him, and he’d rather keep it that way. 

Malfoy drifted over to the table gracefully and slid into his chair, sneering at his plate. He picked up his fork and held it up, huffing and using his paper servette to polish a water spot from it. He sighed, as if having to eat food someone had cooked for him was an inconvenience. 

He took a small nibble, and blinked. Soon he was scooping large forkfuls and stuffing them in his mouth. Harry tried not to watch as Malfoy tucked in and focused in on the food. 

When the last bite was consumed, Malfoy blinked as if he couldn’t figure out where the food went. 

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” he said, shaking his head. “Not bad Potter. Didn’t know you could cook.”

Harry took his plate, turning quickly to hide his blush. “How could you know that? Do you want more?”

Malfoy hummed. “No, I think that did it. I’m going for a shower, alright?”

He didn’t gave Harry an opportunity to answer as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. Harry heard the sound of water turning on. He sighed and put the dishes in the sink. He’d have to wait for Malfoy to get out so he wouldn’t disrupt the hot water. Malfoy surely didn’t know that muggle showers didn’t have an endless supply of hot water. 

Harry looked at the small television in front of the sofa. It didn’t have a cable box, so he assumed they’d get the local channels. There was no remote, so he turned the knobs until he found some reruns of _Fawlty Towers_ on BBC1. He laid down on the sofa, propping a pillow behind his head. His eyes drifted closed.

Harry could feel the steam all around him. It was lovely. He felt hands stroking along his thighs and move closer to his groin where his cock began to fill, interested in what was going on. He smiled and hummed. It felt really good. A hand was now wrapping around his shaft and pulling, a thumb swiping over the top. Harry moaned and arched his hips, looking for more friction. 

Harry opened his eyes and realized what was happening. He had dozed off and was hard in his pants and had a dream-

Then he felt the hand again.

Harry popped up and walked the length of the room. He began pacing, hoping the motion would clear his mind from the bond connection. Malfoy’s smokes were on the windowsill. He picked them up with a shaking hand, pulling one and putting it between his lips. There was no lighter in sight, so he went to the stove and lit it on the hob. 

The first puff was disgusting. He frowned at the cigarette, and took another puff, inhaling this time and ended up in a coughing fit. By the time he’d got his breath back, the sensation of Malfoy touching himself had faded to nothing. Perhaps he had finished himself off.

The door to the bathroom banged open and a very angry Malfoy stepped out wearing only a towel, the water from his shower still making trails down his skin. Harry watched as a drop ran the length of his pale torso and disappeared into the towel. 

“Why the fuck do I feel like I just smoked 10 fags at once?” Malfoy asked accusingly.

Harry looked at the smoking cigarette in his hand. He shrugged.

“Guess it’s the bond thing… I er, needed to distract myself from-”

“Merlin and Morgana, Potter! Were you feeling me having a wank?” Malfoy shouted.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Harry yelled back. “If you could go for five minutes without needing to get off, it wouldn’t be a problem!”

Malfoy huffed. “This day has stressed me out, I needed to relax, you should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a monumental prick if you did.”

Harry blushed. “Sod off, Malfoy,” he mumbled.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” Malfoy crooned, disappearing into the bedroom, and coming back out clad in a silk dressing gown. It clung to his still damp skin, and Harry had to stop himself from staring. Draco plunked down on the sofa, propping his feet up and raising his eyebrow at the telly. “What’s this?”

Harry was grateful for the change in subject. He sighed and sat back down in his spot. 

“It’s called a telly. Muggles film themselves with cameras and transmit it-”

“No, you idiot, I know what it is,” Malfoy snapped. “I meant what are we watching?”

“Oh, erm, _Fawlty Towers._ It’s a comedy.” Harry wondered where Malfoy had seen a telly before.

“Oh, Greg Goyle’s Uncle married a half blood witch who grew up with telly-vision. I got to watch once when we went visiting.”

Harry blanched. “I didn’t say that out loud, did I?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Your Occlumency is rubbish, you know that? Severus did say you were shit at the lessons.” He sat up and looked at Harry sharply. “You need to get better at that, didn’t you know? Severus told me we’d be more likely to be found if you didn’t get better at it. Keep Ol’ Voldy out of your head.”

Harry snickered. “Ol’ Voldy? Fuck, I’d love to see his face if you called him that!”

“It would be the last thing I’d _ever_ see,” Malfoy shuddered. 

“Did Professor Snape really tell you to help with Occlumency?”

Malfoy nodded. “Might help so I can get a decent wank in soon. We should do that tomorrow, straight away. The sooner I get you locked up tight, the better.” He stood. “Well, goodnight, Potter, I’ll do my best to keep my hands off my cock, do me the same courtesy...oh that’s right, you don’t do icky things like that.” Malfoy’s grin was sinful as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Harry exhaled deeply. There was no way he’d be able to sleep after that.

He stood and went to wash up from dinner. It only took a few minutes, then he was out of things to do again. He spied the pack of cigarettes on the window sill and went back over. Maybe he’d try and light it wandlessly.

He tried focusing on his core by closing his eyes. It was weird to have no wand- it had always felt like an extension of himself, and his hand almost tingled, like he’d lost a limb. 

He located his magical core in his gut, pictured it behind his closed eyes as a glowing ball of blue light, similar to the white-blue of his patronus. He felt it pulse as he thought of his patronus stag.

“Ouch!” Harry opened his eyes and dropped the cigarette. It laid on the floor, engulfed in flames, burning quickly to ash, the smell of singed filter stinging his nose. He stomped it out quickly. 

He glanced at the closed bedroom door. No sounds from Malfoy. 

Harry pulled another cigarette from the pack and tried again. This time he kept his eyes open and focused a smaller amount of energy on its tip. He felt a small tingle travel down his arm and the tip of the cigarette flamed. Harry waved it, putting out the flame and leaving the end smoldering. That was good! He took a drag, feeling accomplished and immediately coughed. Oh yeah, he didn’t actually smoke.

After a few puffs, he felt a little dizzy and ill, so he put it out and closed the window for the evening. It wasn’t completely dark outside, but he figured it would be by the time he had a quick shower to cool down and try to sleep again. 

Harry poked around in his trunk and found his kit and towel, along with his bathrobe and pyjama pants. The bathroom was tiny, and the tub was sort of small. Clean but small. He decided to have a bath instead. It had been too long since he’d had a proper soak- perhaps since he was in the triwizard tournament.

Thoughts turned to Cedric Diggory, of course, and Harry felt the heavy weight of his death settle on his shoulders. 

Cedric had been nice to him in a time when it seemed the whole school was against him. He was so kind, so handsome… Harry pushed away the thoughts. He couldn’t handle the dreams, not tonight.

He filled the bath with water as hot as he could make it. He hissed as he lowered himself into the tub, the water turned his skin red quickly. He settled, not quite able to stretch his legs out straight. There was no way Malfoy would be able to fit in the tub- he’d gotten all tall and gangly over the last year. 

Harry settled back in the tub, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. Malfoy hadn’t been all that bad since they got there. Minimal cruel teasing, really. He thought about his friends- Hermione and Ron- together right now, helping the Order hunt Horcruxes, probably shagging by now. The two were made for each other, and they had become so much closer to each other every time Harry had seen them. It was good, really. They fit together in an odd way. Balanced each other out. 

Harry sighed in the steam. He’d never find someone like that. He had thought Ginny might have been an option at one point, but it always felt a bit awkward, her being his best mate’s little sister and all. And Cho just reminded him of how he couldn’t save Cedric. 

Harry cursed under his breath as his traitorous mind brought him back around to Cedric. The boy didn’t deserve what had happened to him- his father didn’t deserve to have his only son taken from him. His kind, beautiful son. 

Dudley had been right. Harry had been crying out his name in his sleep. The nightmares were horrible. In them, he threw himself in front of the Avada Kedavra, but it still shot through him, killing Cedric anyway. Sometimes Voldemort would kill him too, stabbing him with his own wand, like a blade, sometimes setting that monstrous snake on him. The worst part was that Harry would just let him. Just give into the darkness. 

Sometimes he would save Cedric, they would port back to the maze, alone in the tall shrubbery, and Cedric would turn to him, pull him close and whisper against his lips, ‘thank you,’ and kiss him hard. Those were the worst dreams, because he woke confused and hard, realizing Cedric was dead and he was a pervert for having dreams like that. It was awful.

Harry opened his eyes and looked down in the water at his flaccid prick. Stupid thing always doing stupid things at the wrong time. It gave a twitch as if prompted, and he sighed again. Fuck that, he wasn’t in the mood, not after that bullshit with Malfoy. 

Was he full of it, or was he really as experienced as he claimed? Harry had no way to tell. He’d not kept track of him until this last term, when he may have been slightly obsessed over his whereabouts. But he was right in the end, wasn’t he? Malfoy _was_ up to something. Something big.

Harry thought about what Molly had said. She was right, not that he’d admit that out loud, but they were just kids, really, still barely past his 17th birthday, and ill equipped to be a soldier in a war in a world he didn’t even know existed until he was 11.

The water was beginning to cool, so Harry pulled the stopper and got out, drying himself. Soon he was on the sofa with a knitted afghan as his only blanket- thank Merlin for warm random spring nights- and drifted off.

 

********

Voldemort was grinning. His blood-colored eyes glittered in the dim light of the lumos that reflected off the dank stone walls. 

“Do it again, boy, this time like you mean it, or we might have an issue. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Harry saw his vision shift as he shook his head, eyes fixed back on the floor. He raised his wand, slowly, a tremor visible in his hand, and heard the word _Crucio!_ fall from his tongue. A lump of clothing and blood and hair and flesh screamed with inhuman terror. He turned and closed his eyes at the gleeful look on Voldemort’s face.

Harry opened his eyes and shot up straight in bed. _What the fuck?_

A wail came from the bedroom door. Harry stood and ran to the door, then froze. The noise stopped. He held his ear to the door, listening for movement. Maybe Malfoy woke up, maybe it was over. 

“No, no, stay away from me- Mummy! Mummy! Help me!”

Harry swung the door open and crossed to the bed, kneeling beside Draco’s thrashing form. He grabbed one shoulder firmly and shook.

“Malfoy! Wake up! It’s only a dream.” Harry was ready to spring out of the way if Malfoy woke up swinging. He had plenty of nightmares in his life, and his roommates at Hogwarts learned quickly to call from across the room. Harry was pretty sure Draco was in so deep that wouldn’t work.

“Draco! Wake up! It isn’t real!”

Malfoy froze, blinking open his eyes and looking around.

“Wha…” he slurred.

“It was just a dream, Malfoy, it isn’t real.”

To Harry’s horror, Draco’s face crumpled and big tears welled up in his eyes.

“Yes it is real. It’s real.” Draco whispered as he pulled his knees to his chest, rolling away from Harry in a protective position. His shoulders shook as he sobbed. 

Harry was too stunned to move. It was all real? The dream, the nightmare was all real? Was it the same as what Harry had just seen? Was the bond doing that?

“Yes,” quavered a tiny childlike voice, “I’m sorry, that was mine, you weren’t supposed to see that, no one was supposed to see that, no one.”

Suddenly Malfoy unfolded and sprung into a stance on the opposite side of the bed.

“Get out,” he growled.

“But Malfoy-”

“No!” Draco shouted, fury in his eyes, “GET OUT!”

The force of his words was expelled in a flash of magic, pushing Harry backwards and off the bed. He landed on his arse with a thump.

“Fuck, Malfoy, I was just trying to help.” Harry was a little shocked how strong Malfoy was without his wand.

“I don’t…” Draco seemed to deflate as he spoke. “I don’t need your help, I don’t need anyone’s help.” He was slowly climbing back into the bed, curling in on himself, and mumbling so low Harry almost didn’t hear. “No one can help me.”

Harry stood slowly, unsure what to do. He took a breath and opened his mouth-

“Please, Harry,” came the small broken voice again. “Please go, no one can...I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Harry nodded even though Draco couldn’t see. “Erm, okay. If you need any-”

“Thank you, I’m fine.” 

Harry nodded again like an idiot. “Okay.” He backed out of the room, closing the door again.

He sat on the couch staring at the dark telly screen reflecting his face back at him. 

There was no way he’d get any more sleep.


	2. Harry Pot-head

Harry woke to the acrid smell of melting plastic.

“Oh, bugger, I thought I had it that time.” Mumbled Draco.

Harry sat up and fumbled for his glasses. Malfoy was in the kitchen, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, holding up a melted plastic leftovers container.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?” Harry stumbled over to see what he had done.

“I was just trying to make toast, but this infernal muggle contraption refuses to cooperate.”

“That’s the microwave,” Harry said flatly. 

Draco sneered. “Micro-wave? It doesn’t look anything like a wave, and all it did was make the bread mushy! How was I supposed to know what it did!”

“You don’t use that for toast. You use the toaster.” He waved to the silver upright box next to the kettle.

Draco looked at him blankly, tipping his ash on the floor.

“Hey, don’t do that, other people live here, you know,” Harry griped, looking for the dustpan and broom. 

“People? I assume you are referring to yourself as ‘people’ which itself is mighty disturbing- have you consider having you head checked?” Malfoy said smirking. He grabbed the depleted sack of bread and pulled two more pieces out.

“It’s just an expression,” Harry sighed, sweeping up crumbs and ash. “I just mean you might want to consider that we have to clean up after ourselves now. No house elves here.”

“How muggle,” Malfoy sniffed, eyeing the toaster warily. “Now how does this thing work, and how can I keep from angering it? I’m quite hungry.”

Harry leaned the broom against the counter and snatched the bread from Draco’s fingertips, glaring at him. Part of him was jumping for glee because he knew something Draco didn’t.

He popped the bread in the slots and made exaggerated motions to show Draco how to select darkness and push the lever. “Any questions?”

“What happens to it in there?” Draco leaned over to watch the coils heat up. “Oh look? Eleck-trick? Yeah, they seem to be heating the bread- how primitive.”

Harry sighed deeply and grabbed the kettle to fill up. At least Malfoy hadn’t melted anything important. It was much better seeing him like this, instead of curled in a ball, or filled with rage.

“Oh, look, it’s working!” Malfoy smiled over at Harry, reaching out to touch the toaster.

“NO! Don’t-”

“Ouch! Shit! The little bastard bit me!” Draco stuck his finger in his mouth. “Have I offended it by pressuring it to finish quicker? What the hell?”

Harry ran the tap on cold and grabbed Draco’s hand from his mouth, sticking the burned finger under the running water.

“Hmm,” Draco raised his eyebrows. “One time, when I was small, Mother let me help her make biscuits- with her wand, of course, and I burned myself on the tray she laid them on. It hurt terribly. Dobby fixed it right away, but I remember wondering why the pain just wouldn’t stop. Burns are terrible.” He looked back at Harry, who was getting their mugs ready. “You ever burn yourself?”

 

Harry absently pulled on the edge of his t-shirt. He kept his mind from wandering too far into the past. “Er, yeah, loads of times. Usually while cooking. Before. I mean, before I knew about magic.”

Malfoy squinted at him, and Harry felt an odd pressure inside his head.

“Oi! You can’t do that,” Harry shoved Draco back, and the feeling disappeared. “Stay out of there.”

“Sorry,” Malfoy said, not sounding sorry at all. “Was just curious. I wanted to see what you cooked without magic. This is what I’m talking about, Potter. You have to be able to slam your mind shut if a skilled Legilimens goes prying. I’m not so bad, still learning, really, but I have Occlumency down solid. Auntie Beatrix made sure of that.” He looked down at his hand, his face darkening. 

The toast popped, breaking the strange tension. Harry pulled it, buttered it, put on a touch of jam for Malfoy and sat his tea with sugars and milk next to him on the counter without another word.

Draco blinked at his plate. He turned off the tap, drying his hand on his slacks.

“How do you know how I take my toast?”

Harry blushed and sipped his tea, washing dry toast crumbs down his throat. “Same way you probably know how I take my tea.”

“Black,” Draco answered without pause. “Hmm. I might have picked up on that fourth year. I was doing a lot of...erm...observing, so I could report to Rita Skeeter, that blight of a witch. Bitch turned on my family after my father was arrested, of course. She prints nothing but lies, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Why are you telling me this, Malfoy?” Harry placed his plate in the sink, wondering if he should add more tea on the list too.

Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t know, Potter, just making polite conversation, is all. You should try it.”

“How about we talk about last night,” Harry asked unkindly.

Draco’s nostrils flared but his face went still. “That is hardly polite conversation,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“Fine, fine, sorry I mentioned it,” Harry held his hands up, it was still too early to be having any kind of conversation with Malfoy, polite or otherwise. “I’m going to get dressed and head to the shops. Do you want to join me? Check out the neighbors?”

 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Not interested in the neighbors, unless one wants to shag, of course. Okay, yes, I’ll come too, I might meet someone at the shops. Witch Weekly said it’s a good place to chat up men.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure Malfoy was joking or not. His humor seemed to be scathing remarks made conversationally, mixed with sarcasm, mixed with dry wit. It was complex. Who knew Harry’s adversary was so complex? 

They took turns in the bathroom and locked the flat door behind them. Draco was in all black, and Harry hadn’t bothered to tell him to change. He wasn’t wearing a cloak or robe, and he could easily be mistaken for some goth kid. His cropped in the back, long on the top white-blond hair looked bleached; muggle boys were bleaching their hair, like some American rapper. Harry couldn’t remember his name. 

They walked along the road until it opened up to a small shopping area. There were bins of fresh fruits and vegetables, racks of cheap knock-off clothing, panhandlers, and a butcher’s and bakery. Harry pulled open the door to the bakery first. Draco followed him in, eyes wide, taking everything in. 

“What'll ya have, mate?” A man with a balding head and big belly asked in a think Cockney accent. Harry hadn’t heard it much, except telly, so he hoped he could understand. He pulled his list from his pocket.

“Er, yeah, thanks- a couple of loaves of the wheat, and a couple of sacks of flour, if you have it.” 

The man winked. “Ya skivin orf tha booksta get ya Mum bakin flour?” 

Harry laughed and Draco looked confused. The man sounded more like Hagrid than Cockney, so he could understand just fine. 

“Sure,” Harry said. “We’re out today, they had to exterminate the school.”

“Aye, no surprize, lad, in me day theys run ov’r wit rats tha size a kittens!” The man pulled two loaves to slice and made quick work of it. He pulled a two kilo package of bread flour from under the counter. “Ya sure? It’s awful heavy ta carry, ya always can come back fer it, if ya like.”

“Sounds good,” Harry smiled and handed over a few notes. He accepted the bag of bread and they left the shop. 

“What just happened?” Draco asked as they moved toward the butcher’s. “I didn’t understand a bloody word he said! Was that even English?”

Harry shrugged. “He said we could come back for the flour.”

“I could swear he said something about rats?”

“He thought we were cutting classes, I told him they were being fumigated- sprayed with poison for pests. He said they used to be overrun with rats.”

Draco wrinkled his nose in that way Harry couldn’t help but think was cute.

“But rats are useful. Why would anyone want to kill rats? That’s idiotic. If it were doxys or pixies, I could understand…”

“Rats carry diseases humans can get in the muggle world. The Black Plague? You ever hear of that?”

Draco nodded. “Of course. Magden the Mad Wizard set a curse loose that killed half the muggles in Europe and about a third of the wizards and witches. We learned that in second year. What about it?”

Harry snorted. “Okay nevermind, bad example. I don’t know, muggles don’t like rats, it puts them off. They run around underground in the sewers and such.”

“They are excellent messengers underground, when owls cannot be used, of course they use the sewers. In the city, anyway.” Malfoy stopped at a rack of sparkly club clothing. There were enormous pants with bell legs, neon colored shirts and hats, mesh shirts, and sequins on everything. “This is unusual,” Malfoy said, fingering the cloth of a shirt. “What kind of muggle clothing is this?”

“Rave gear, I reckon,” Harry said, looking over his list again. “I’m going to get some things from this shop, are you coming?”

Malfoy was already sliding hangers along the rail, looking at all the clothing. “What, pray tell, Potter, is a ‘rave’?”

Harry smirked. “If you’re lucky, we might find one to go to this summer.” He’d never been to one himself, but he had found fliers to secret locations on the tube all last summer, wishing he had the courage to go.

“Hmm. If this is the common attire at such a place, count me in.” 

Harry shook his head and went to get some herbs and other odds and ends.

When he came back out, Draco had a pile of clothing draped over his arm, waiting for Harry to pay. The woman running the booth was scowling. Harry argued with her over price, getting a discount because of the sheer volume of items. Draco seemed impressed when they walked away with a whole new muggle section to add to his wardrobe. 

“That was fun,” Malfoy said, swinging his bags of clothing. “I think I’ll blend in better if I wear muggle clothing, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Harry smirked. “Those clothes are sure to help you blend in. As long as you stand near disco balls, you’ll be practical invisible.”

 

“Just because you dress like a homeless person doesn’t mean the rest of us should.”

“The rest of us,” Harry snorted, “what you and the muggles? You’re going to lump yourself in with them now, eh?”

Draco swung his bags. “I guess so. If I’m going to be an outcast for the rest of my life, I might as well get used to the muggle things, don’t you think?”

Harry stopped walking. “Are you serious? An outcast? Why would you be?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Potter, you’re so much less tolerable when you pretend to be an idiot. Think about it. I am the reason the Order has all the insider information they do. What I have told them will help them win the war.”

Harry blinked. “So you’ll be a hero, not an outcast.”

Draco scoffed. “A hero? Me? A Malfoy? No, not likely. I’m going to forever be remembered as the boy who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and got the Headmaster killed. Nothing more. Nothing else I do matters to anyone anymore.”

Harry stood with his mouth gaping, processing everything. It was true that even if the public found out he had helped the Light side, all Draco would be remembered for was his mistakes. That was how it worked. They either loved you or hated you, there was no middle.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Harry looked up, seeing the sign for the butcher’s. “Let me get the meat and we’ll head home. I’ll make a lunch, yeah?” 

Draco nodded, staring off into the distance. Harry went in quickly and picked out some chicken, cheap cuts of steak, livers, sausages, bacon rashers, and a couple cartons of eggs. He paid quickly, keeping his eye on the window to make sure Malfoy didn't disappear.

It was weird. He was unable to fight the feelings of empathy for Malfoy rising up inside him. It was troubling. It had been easier to see the world in black and white- there was good, there was evil, and no gray area at all. Harry flashed on Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and the choice he made that nearly killed Draco. In cold blood. His regret over it. The way the blood flowed down the drains. 

Harry shook himself and took his goods and left the store. Both of them had full arms of bags as they headed back to the flat. 

They were almost all the way back when Harry heard a voice from the shadows of the alley.

“Psst, lads, you want to buy some smoke?” A young man with coffee-colored skin wearing a rasta hat on his head leaned against the wall, the sweet smoke from his joint floating around him like a genie.

Harry stopped. He looked over at Malfoy who just shrugged. He probably didn’t know what the guy was selling.

Fuck it. “Yeah, alright,” Harry walked toward him, reaching out with his magical core as much as he could to see if the guy was going to rob him or something. 

“15 quid for a dime. It’s good shit. You just move into the neighborhood?” The guy took a rolled up plastic bag and showed Harry. “I’m Calvin. You need weed, you come to me. I live two down from the bodega- by the broken ATM kiosk. That’s my door. I got a lot more than herb, you feel me? You need a vcr, I got you. Here.” He handed Draco a business card. Draco’s brows arched in amusement.

Harry pulled out fifteen pounds, careful to not show the rest of his money. They exchanged bundles and Harry felt the weight of the bag in his hand, as he had seen in a film he saw last summer. Sure, the bag in the movie was heroin, but he wanted to look a little like he knew what he was doing.

“Looks good,” Harry said with a casual smile. “I’m Paul and that’s Drew. Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.” 

They began to head back to the flat. 

“What’s a vcr?” Draco whispered.

Harry grinned. “If it isn’t too expensive, I’ll get one off that guy tomorrow. You watch muggle films on it.”

“I’ve never seen a muggle film,” Malfoy said wistfully. “I wanted to go when I was ten, and Mother said she would take me, but Father forbade me to go.”

Harry felt a wave of sadness coming from Draco. He felt a odd but strong desire to make him feel better.

Harry popped into the chemist to buy rolling papers and another pack of cigarettes from a bored attendant that didn’t bother asking for ID. On a whim, he added a bottle of whiskey to his order.

The stomped up the stairs with their load of shopping, sweating by the time they hit the third floor.

“Fuck me, it’s bloody boiling,” Draco complained.

“You’re wearing an undertaker’s suit in the summer, Malfoy.”

“Shut it, Potter, it’s barely spring, and besides, I haven’t anything with short sleeves, for obvious reasons,” he said dismissively.

Harry was starting to see the pattern in Malfoy’s moods. He was ashamed, so he was dismissive. It was the about the Mark- it was still on Draco’s arm.

“I’ve already seen it, and half the neighborhood is tattooed, so who cares?” Harry said waving a hand, matching Draco’s tone perfectly.

Draco paused as he was going through his bags. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.

Harry put the meat in the fridge and the bread in the pantry. “What?” He ignored the shift and maintained the same tone. “I’m putting away the shopping.”

“I mean, why are you being so...bloody casual all of a sudden. It’s weird, honestly.”

Harry chuckled. “This is how I am, Malfoy. When I’m not fighting with someone, I can be quite pleasant to be around.”

Draco looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t know how I feel about you being nice to me, Potter. It’s...unsettling.” He shuddered dramatically.

Harry laughed and walked back over to the sofa, bringing the whiskey, rolling papers, and marijuana with him. He sat the items on the table and stared at them, not knowing where to start.

Malfoy eventually came and sat at the other end of the sofa, crossing his legs. Harry looked over.

Draco had put a t-shirt on- it was neon pink and said ‘Sassy Bitch’ on the front in glitter.

Harry dissolved into giggles. “Merlin’s tits, Malfoy, what are you wearing?”

Draco uncrossed his legs and rested his arms across the back of the sofa, smirking in his over-confident way. His Mark was showing. Harry knew it was a test. 

“I look fabulous, thank you,” Malfoy said with a smirk.

Harry grinned and cracked the seal on the bottle of Irish Whiskey. “If you say so. If I need to remember anything about the real you, I’ll just look at your shirt.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and took the offered bottle. “To the real me!” He held the bottle aloft and took a swig. “Fuck, Potter,” he sputtered. “What the hell is this rot?”

Harry smiled and took it back. “It gets easier after the first few shots.” He also only knew that from a movie he saw. He took a swig and swallowed the fire when it hit his throat. He coughed hard and Draco pounded him on the back a few times. 

“You’ve never drank this before, have you?” Malfoy said with a smirk, taking back the bottle.

“You got me,” Harry wheezed. “Never had muggle whiskey, so we could be drinking cat piss for all I know.” 

Draco nodded in approval and drank again. “Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. What are you going to do with that sage? Make a potion?”

Harry snickered and pulled a fresh paper from the pack and opened the bag of weed. “I’ve never done this either. It’s called pot, weed, green, marijuana, and a few more names I’m sure. You smoke it and it makes you feel good, or so the telly would have me believe.”

“Ah so it’s like smoking gillyweed.” Draco licked a drop of whiskey from the neck of the bottle, Harry following with his eyes.

“You can smoke gillyweed? I thought it was so you could breathe underwater-”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a Triwizard Champion, blah blah blah, tell me something I don’t know.” Draco sat back on the sofa, sliding down and slouching. He looked good all relaxed and smiling. 

Harry shook his head and concentrated on breaking up the weed to lay in the paper. There was a lot more than he thought at first. Were they supposed to smoke all of it? He put a line of the dried leaves in the paper and struggled to roll it into a cylinder. 

“Well,” Malfoy asked expectantly, looking at Harry, his pale gray eyes intense and searching.

“Well, what?” Harry tried to seal the joint closed and it fell apart. He groaned and started over with a new paper. He wondered if there was a cigarette rolling charm.

“Well, tell me something about you I don’t know. I seem to be at a disadvantage, what with you in my dream and knowing about me being bent. I’ve told you a lot of little secrets, let’s level the quidditch pitch.”

Harry hummed, trying hard to keep his mind clear in case Draco went digging on his own. He paused and took another pull on the whiskey bottle, almost too aware that his lips were touching what had just been against Draco’s own. 

“I lived in a cupboard for the first 11 years of my life. Under the stairs, at my aunt and uncle’s house. They’re muggles.” He looked out the window as he spoke, hoping Draco had lost interest. He peeked back at him. Malfoy’s usual smirk and sneer were nowhere to be seen. He looked gobsmacked.

“A cupboard.” Draco repeated.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, feeling red creep up his neck. He busied himself by trying to roll a joint again.

“Under the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Harry really wished there wouldn’t be follow-up questions, but there always were.

“Wow.” Draco grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “I’d heard they were awful people- that tell-all article and everything said they kept you away from the public, but I had no idea. That’s monstrous. To think Lily Potter’s sister could be that cruel.” He took a long drink.

Harry froze, even though he almost had the joint rolled. “How do you know my mother?”

Draco stared at the bottle in his hands. “Your mother knew my mother briefly. They were Slytherin and Gryffindor, like us, rivals. But in academics. My mother excelled in her studies, and Lily Potter was always there just ahead of her. Uncle Severus fancied your mom, did you know?”

Harry balked. “No, that’s news to me,” he licked the paper and sealed it down, offering it to Draco to light. He thought about how much shit he’d taken from Snape over the years. When they were practicing Occlumency, he’d gotten a peek at how his father had bullied the lonely boy, how much it hurt Snape. He hadn’t thought of it again until now, but he was starting to understand why his professor hated him so much. Face like his father with eyes like his mother’s. 

Draco held the joint between his lips patting his pockets. “Oh fuck. Forgot, no wand.” He giggled. “And I’ve lost my lighter.”

Harry laughed. “I thought you were over there being a cool motherfucker using wandless magic, but you were using a lighter.” Harry laughed harder, really tickled at the idea.

Draco snorted. “Wait, how did you light yours? When you nearly choked me to death on smoke?”

Harry shrugged. “Wandless magic. I nearly burned the flat down the first try, had to reel it in a bit.”

Draco pulled the joint from his lips and handed it back. “Of course you nearly burned down the flat, you idiot, here, light it.”

Harry took it back and placed it between his own lips, pushing away the shiver he got when the slightly damp paper touched his mouth. He focused, relaxed and there was a puff sound as a flame popped to life, and he opened his eyes and sucked in a little to keep it lit. The flame died down and the tip glowed red. Harry inhaled the smoke he’d pulled in his mouth and held out the joint to Draco. Then he had a coughing fit as his lungs burned.

Draco took the joint and gaped at him. “What the fuck, Potter, that was madness! You have to teach me that. I’ll help you with the Occu- Occumen- thingy and you teach me to torch stuff with my mind.”

Harry giggled. “It’s called Occulemon- something.” He laughed when Draco pulled too hard on the joint and coughed as well.

“Fucking hell, Harry! Are you trying to do Moldy Voldy a favor and kill us? That was terrible!”

Harry couldn’t speak he was laughing so hard. Tears rolled down his cheeks- Moldy Voldy!

“What is it, what’s wrong, Harry?”

At the mention of his given name, Harry only laughed harder, becoming silent and turning red. He gasped in a lungful of air and got out the words “Moldy Voldy” before collapsing into laughter again.

Malfoy’s face split into a grin. “Yeah, Ol’ Snakeface, Captain Noseless, Moldy Voldy.”

Harry pushed Malfoy, still laughing uncontrollably. “Stop, I can’t breathe, you’re killing me!” Harry pushed his arm again. “Just think all these years you could have killed me by making me laugh.”

Malfoy was taking another drag when Harry spoke, and started coughing again, laughing hard. He handed the joint back, falling back on the sofa, holding his stomach and practically howling. Harry grinned at him, loving this side of his old enemy. 

Draco got ahold of himself, wiping his eyes. “I just kept picturing me on my broom during a quidditch game telling you my names for the Dark Lord and you laughing and falling off your broom, and I finally catch the snitch! Fucking pathetic! The more I think about it, the funnier it is, but I have no idea why.”

Harry pulled the sweet smoke into his lungs, holding it there. The room was fuzzy and light. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the heaviness of his life, the horrible things he’d seen, he was just a bloke hanging out with another bloke, getting high and drunk on a Monday afternoon. 

Wait, was it Monday? He had no idea. It could be Christmas for all he knew. No wait, it’s summerish maybe...wait what was he saying?

Malfoy was watching him and giggling.

Harry grinned. “Am I talking out loud?”

Draco shook his head slowly. “No, but I could almost tell what you were thinking by how your face looked. It was terribly funny.”

“Can’t you do the Lemon-genzy thingy to me now and hear all the things?”

Draco chuckled and sighed. “No, I feel too good to bother with Lemon-genzy.” He suddenly sat up. “I’m hungry, are you hungry? I could eat a erumphant. Cook me something, please!”

Harry tilted his head in amusement. “Did you just say please? Draco ‘my father will hear about this’ Malfoy just said please to Harry Potter?”

“Don’t make me beg, Harry ‘my hair has never seen a comb and I’m growing a kneazle on my face’ Potter. It’s undignified.”

Harry stood, cackling. “Says the bloke wearing the shirt saying Sassy Bitch. Okay what do you want for lunch?” Harry swerved toward the kitchen. When did the flat start moving around? He was walking toward the kitchen but ended up falling in the chair by the phone. “What the fuck?” He whispered.

“You alright, Harry ‘four eyes’ Potter?”

“I think I’m drunk, Draco ‘my eyes are the colour of snowflakes’ Malfoy.” Harry struggled to stand and gave up, slouching in the chair. “I’m stuck. Someone must have cursed me, help.” He waved his arms over at Draco weakly.

“Poor Potty- wait, did you say my eyes look like snowflakes?”

Harry thought for a second. “I think so? They’re like, I dunno, all silvery and shiny, shut up and come help me, you ponce!”

Draco whistled. “Why Potty, I think you just paid me a compliment, though it seemed accidental. Allow me.” He stood and stumbled over, giggling when he almost fell over his own feet. 

He made it to the chair and sat on the right arm, his arse almost at eye-level with Harry where he slouched. It was round and firm, and Harry bit his lip and clenched his fists to keep from reaching over and pinching it on a whim. 

“Now, why am I here, again?” Draco looked around the room, then back at Harry, his gray eyes reddened but twinkling. From that close, Harry could see a slight pale stubble on his cheeks, where he hadn’t shaved. Looked like Harry wasn’t the only one afraid of muggle razors.

“Help me up, I think,” Harry smirked, his eyes wandering over Draco’s lithe form.

“But it seems so much easier to just let me down.” With that, Draco slid off the right arm of the chair and wedged into it with Harry. His body was warm and soft, not as sharp as Harry expected. Harry wiggled over a bit to accommodate Draco, but fortunately they were both rail thin and fit comfortably.

“Food!” Harry said suddenly. “You begged me to make you food, and we probably do need some lunch. I got some ham, I can make sandwiches.”

“Oh that sounds sinfully good,” Draco groaned, the sound vibrating through Harry’s skin, making him shudder slightly. He closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation. 

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was quiet, almost intimate. Harry’s eyes flew open. “Does it look terrible?”

Draco was holding out his left arm between them, the dark mark writhing there. Harry could see other faint lines through it, scars crossing each other in a random pattern. Harry grabbed his wrist from underneath and held him still.

“Draco, did you do this?” he asked running a finger over the slightly raised scars.

Draco sniffed, but didn’t pull his arm away. “Maybe. A little. I thought I could cut it off, but it didn’t work, the bloody thing healed my cuts as fast as I could make them. Guess I’m stuck with it.” His voice was haughty and dismissive- he was ashamed.

“It’s okay,” Harry mumbled. “Scars don’t make you who you are, not really.”

Dracos snorted, grinning at Harry, only inches away from his face. “Says Harry ‘Scarhead’ Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World.” His breath was sweet with whiskey as it ghosted over Harry’s face.

Harry huffed a laugh, but didn’t get angry. “Yeah, such bullshit that was, you know? I didn’t even know there was a wizarding world five years ago, then I’m supposed to just jump in and save it.”

“Unfair,” Draco sighed, slouching further into the chair and resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry looked at his darker-skinned hand wrapped loosely around Draco’s pale wrist, and how the contrast was almost beautiful to look at. He sighed as well. 

“Yeah, unfair.”

Harry let his mind wander, letting Draco’s warmth sooth him. 

“Harry?” Draco sad sleepily.

“Yeah, Draco?”

“Are we friends? I mean, I don’t really think we’re enemies anymore, you know? I just wanted to know if we were friends. Nevermind, forget I said anything, that was so gaaaaaay…”

Harry breathed through his nose. “Yeah, alright, we’re friends.”

“Once, when I was little, I used to pretend we were friends. That you would come to school and we’d be best friends and room together in Slytherin, and play quidditch together.”

Harry was stunned. He hadn’t realized Draco knew of him before school. He thought of that offered hand, how he’d refused to shake it, of the face Malfoy held as he retreated- 

Oh fuck. Dismissive. Shame. 

“Well, we’re rooming together now, aren’t we?” Harry offered. “And we’ve played plenty of quidditch together, yeah? Maybe we’ll try it without all the body checks.”

“But the body checks are the fun part,” Draco giggled and burrowed his nose into Harry’s neck and sighed. 

Harry felt it through his very core- being close to Draco felt so good, so right. It was probably just the bond, and being stoned, but he liked it. 

Soon Draco’s breathing evened out, and he was asleep. Harry closed his eyes, his mind calm and wandering, and he fell asleep too.


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for descriptions of past non-con/rape.

Harry was hard as a rock. There was a pressure against him, warm weight pushing into him, something firm his cock was resting against. He sighed and rolled his hips slightly. It felt really good, the increase in pressure. Especially when the firm, warm thing pressed back. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing the pale skin of the back of Malfoy’s neck.

They had shifted to their sides in the chair while sleeping, Harry spooning around Draco’s sleeping form.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, holding still. Hopefully Draco was still asleep and he didn’t just humiliate them both. He slowly backed his hips up and slid from the chair. He needed a cold shower and to sober up. 

Harry looked around. The sun was setting through the window, the air of the city making it turn red and fire gold, the light in the little flat surreal. He turned back and looked at Draco, small in the chair, face peaceful and smooth. His hair was glowing with the borrowed colour of the sky, and his lips were rosy and full. He looked beautiful.

Harry sucked in a quiet breath.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…_

He walked quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turned the shower on cold and stripped quickly. The rough fabric of his pants brushing his cock made him wince- it was just all so wrong.

The cold hitting his back made short work of his erection, cooling his burning flesh. He stood and let the water run over his body, calming himself.

He was _not_ attracted to Malfoy. They were just friends now. Flatmmates. It was fine. He would finish up, go back out there and make some food for Draco to wake up to. Something delicious. Then they could get high again and maybe there would be more cuddling-

Harry’s erection was trying to make a valiant return, but he willed it away and started thinking about the raw chickens instead. He’d try roasting one with rosemary potatoes and carrots. He should have bought wine. 

No he shouldn’t have. Wine was for dates or something. They were just having dinner.

Harry walked out of the bathroom in his towel, but Draco was nowhere in sight. 

Harry walked over to the closed bedroom door and paused. There were sounds coming from behind the door, moaning and panting breaths. Was Draco dreaming again? 

No, idiot, he was wanking. 

“Fuck,” Harry’s face burned and he thought about another shower. A warmer one. He tried reaching out a little with his mind- but Malfoy had it locked down tight. Why was he making this complicated? Just cook the fucking food and watch telly, go to bed. 

He walked quietly back to his trunk and found a clean t shirt, pulling it on with some plaid trousers he’d picked up at a thrift store last summer. They were loose enough when he bought them, and he really didn’t think he’d grown much over the year, so they fit fine. He toweled off his hair and set off for the kitchen. He was preparing the chicken when Draco reappeared, looking fresh as a daisy.

“Ta for the cold water wake-up. Had to practice a little Occul- What on earth are you wearing?” Draco asked, stretching his arms over his head, popping his back. 

“Pfft.” Harry answered. “High fashion, you wouldn’t know anything about it. You like rosemary chicken?”

“Yes, I’m famished! Sounds perfect.” Draco walked around and leaned on the counter, studying Harry’s face. “Did it get weird earlier, or are we good?”

“We’re good,” Harry said quickly, “I mean, everything’s fine.” He smiled at Draco, hoping it was reassuring. Draco looked skeptical. 

“If you say so, Potter.”

“Oh, it’s Potter now?” Harry said with a smirk, tying his chicken’s legs together and checking the oven temperature.

“Isn’t it always?” Draco drawled, studying his nails.

Harry laughed. “I guess it is, _Draco_.”

“Do we have any ice?” Draco asked, moving to the freezer door.

“I think so.”

“I’ll pour us a proper drink, _Harry,_ ” Draco grinned widely at him, making his heart skip a little. He was being ridiculous.

“Alright,” Harry said, ducking to cover his blush. “Why don’t you take a whack at rolling a proper joint. Anything would be better than the mess I made of the last one.”

Draco hummed and pulled two glass tumblers from the cabinet, inspected them closely, and dropped a couple of cubes in each, and walked to the coffee table and started chuckling. “Harry,” he huffed, grin on his face.

“Hmm?”

“Look.”

Harry was already watching him, of course, and his food prep at a standstill. Draco held up the remaining half of the joint and a mostly full bottle of whisky.

“Well, we are officially lightweights,” Draco giggled.

Harry grinned. Draco was lit up by the late evening sun, just as it was finishing setting, that ethereal glow of brilliant orange fire reflecting off his smooth hair. It was getting longer- maybe he’d grow it out.

“Well, spark it, as they say- I’ll put this bird in the oven and we’ll be nice and roasted by the time it is.” Harry covered the chicken loosely in foil and slid it into the hot oven. He washed his hands and came to join Draco by the window. 

“You know bloody well I can’t light this, you nunce,” Draco smiled and held the pitifully rolled joint out for Harry to light.

Harry sipped his drink. It was much better cold. “How about you try.”

Draco furrowed his brows. “I can do a few moving spells- like stirring my tea, pushing something across a table, but making fire out of nothing? I’m not sure many can do that.”

“Dumbledore could,” Harry said without thinking. “Remember when he would light candles? I figured anyone could do it, that’s why I tried.”

Draco was looking out the window, far away for a moment. Harry winced. Dumbledore’s death didn’t just affect him. 

“You know,” Draco said, voice hollow, “it was like this, that evening. The sun was disappearing over the mountains when I climbed the stairs to the tower. I felt like I was climbing to my death. I didn’t even believe anymore, I just spouted words to cover my fear. But he knew, he always knew.” A small smile passed over his lips and was gone as quick as it had come. “You know, he said that to me before, about me not being a killer. He knew what I was doing to whole time. He knew about the Death Eaters, the cabinet, but he didn’t stop me. Couldn’t stop me. He knew I would be killed, that my parents would be tortured and killed. He knew I was sent to murder him, that it was a mission meant to fail, meant to punish my Father for the Ministry fuck-up...He knew everything.”

Harry sighed deeply, keeping the tears back. “I think he meant for me to be there, to see it happen. That’s so fucked up, I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“I think he’d be okay with that,” Draco laughed sadly. “He was forgiving of me until his last breath. I don’t deserve any of it.” His eyes studied the horizon, as if it held some secret to his salvation. 

Harry wanted desperately to tell Draco he forgave him for everything, and in that instance, he knew it to be true. All the torture as they grew up, all the pranks, taunting, the scuffles on the quidditch pitch. None of it mattered anymore. But he couldn’t find the words. 

Or maybe he was still a little high.

Harry took the joint from Draco’s hand and put it in Draco’s mouth. The other boy looked surprised and amused.

“You going to light it from there?” he chuckled, “don’t catch my hair on fire.”

Harry snorted. “You’re going to light it. Your magic is strong, I can feel it from here. Just close your eyes and feel where it lives, right here.” Harry pressed two fingers to Draco’s solar plexus. He kept his fingers there, watching as Draco took in a deep breath through his nose and let his eyes fall closed. 

There was a pulse of magic that shot through Harry’s arm, hot and electric, the same time as it shot from Draco’s lips, lighting the whole joint aflame. Harry smacked it from Draco’s lips and stomped it quickly out. Draco had his jaw unhinged. 

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it worked!” Draco had his fingertips pressed to his lips. 

“Did you burn yourself?” Harry moved Draco’s fingers and inspected his lip. It was pink and plump as usual, no harm done. Draco’s tongue poked out and swiped his lower lip, making Harry step back as a burst of desire pulsed through him. 

Harry met Draco’s eyes. His pupils appeared larger than normal. Harry studied him for maybe a bit too long, holding his gaze for the first time without malicious intent. His eyes were silver and flame, reflecting the dying sun. He looked sharply away, sipping his drink and clearing his throat after it burned. 

“Not bad for your first try,” Harry laughed nervously, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but Draco’s face. “Just try to relax it a little next time.”

“Guess this is my turn to roll one.” Draco’s voice sounded far away. 

Harry met his eyes again, seeing amusement and a touch of confusion flit across his features, then replaced by a smirk. “Doesn’t look too hard, I’ll make short work of it.”

He settled in Harry’s spot on the sofa and pulled a paper. Harry watched, mesmerized, as those long, delicate, tapered fingers broke up the weed, and rolled it swiftly into a joint. He licked the edge and rolled it down, holding it up with a smug grin on his face.

“Wait just a damn minute,” Harry said, exaggerated offence in his voice. “You could do that already, couldn’t you?”

Draco laughed and spun the joint on his palm like a top, showing off his magic again. “Too right, Potter, I had to nick some of Father’s tobacco anytime I wanted to smoke at home for the hols. There’s a charm to roll them, but I learned by hand after I accidentally turned my first attempts into brown roses somehow.”

Harry whistled, impressed. “Cool. Now light it, smart-arse.”

“Better a smart-arse than a dumb-arse,” quipped Draco as he closed his eyes and tried to light the joint. A small perfect flame appeared on the tip, and he smirked and winked at Harry as he inhaled to smolder the tip. Harry’s stomach filled with butterflies and he sipped his drink to hide his blush. 

Why was Draco getting to him this way? Just two days ago, he knew for certain he was straight, didn’t he? But in those two days, he’d somehow given in to his fantasies, the wrongness his brain produced, had always produced, since he was locked in that cupboard and had his first erection at 11, when he thought about an older boy who lived down the road, and touched himself wondering if that boy did the same thing. Aunt Petunia had caught him writing the boy’s name on the underside of the stairs once, and she snatched him up, anger and fear in her eyes, telling him in a low voice not to let Uncle Vernon see him do that again if he wanted to keep the comforts of living indoors. Harry had been terrified- he’d hear Uncle Vernon swear at the telly anytime they’d have a news report about gay rights, or when the Pride Parade in London was mentioned. Harry shut it down, like he shut everything down.

“Harry?” Draco was back next to him by the window, holding the joint out, curious look on his face. 

Harry smiled at him and took it. He took a drag, careful not to inhale too quickly, already feeling his buzz from earlier in the day returning from the whiskey, holding the smoke in his lungs and exhaling slowly. His lips felt warm and tingly, so he licked them, tasting the sweetness of the pot mixed with whiskey. He held out the joint and watched Draco take another hit.

They stood that way, side by side, and watched the sun disappear behind the buildings and darkness descend in silence. The noise of the cars below, the people passing by, the music coming from other windows made a pleasant background for Harry’s comfort, his worries about Dumbledore, his memories, his feelings for Draco no longer seeming like that big a deal.

“When did you figure out you were gay?” He asked Draco casually.

Draco raised his eyebrows and snuffed out the tiny end of the joint on the windowsill. Harry walked back to the cabinet to get a saucer and the new pack of cigarettes for Draco. They climbed out the window onto the fire escape in silent agreement, sitting on the see-through metal mesh, and Draco lit a cigarette with his magic, handing it to Harry. They shared a smoke as Draco seemed to collect his thoughts. Harry had almost forgot he’d asked a question when Draco finally spoke.

“My family actually has a long streak of queer running through it. Great grand uncle Phineas Black was bent, an aunt on my Mum’s side, a few cousins. Sirius, of course.”

Harry jerked and looked at Draco. “Wha?”

Draco smiled fondly. “Yeah, he was a poof, Mum and he were close as small children, but of course when Auntie Wahlburga kicked him out of the house, she was barred from seeing him. She knew it hurt him, but she had to make a vow and had no choice. Had to keep the Black name pure and all that rot.”

“Your mum told you all that?” 

“Yeah,” Draco looked down at his hands. “Mum was the first person I told. Of course she already knew- she said she knew her own boy through and through even if Father couldn’t. We kept it from him, of course, though I suspect he knows now.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

A dark shadow crossed Draco’s face. “I don’t want to talk about that, okay?” He faced Harry again, a quiet desperation in his smoke-reddened eyes. Harry nodded.

Draco sighed. “I was about nine when I noticed I liked pretty boys and not pretty girls. Mother would lecture me on pureblood marriage ceremonies, telling me how if I was very lucky, I would know my betrothed at Hogwarts and have an opportunity to fall in love with her, like her and Father. They were a rare couple. My Father loves her dearly, I have seen it, but when I pictured myself as part of a couple, maybe with Pansy, it felt weird because we were best friends. But Vince or Greg- that seemed more likely. We played together as children, as children do, there was touching, experimenting, at parties while the grown ups were in the other rooms. We’d play kissing games and the like, and even the boys were dared to kiss, I was more comfortable kissing Vince than Pansy, though I was friends with both. I gave Vince a handjob on a dare, in the closet of course, and nothing really happened, except I had this weird urge to put his cock in my mouth- I didn’t, we were only 12 that time- and what I had already known was then truth to me then. I told Mother and Pansy, and Vince already knew, and he told Greg. My friends knew and didn’t care, but it got around, of course. No one at Hogwarts seemed to care- most of the wizarding world doesn’t give a fuck about sexuality- save a few pureblood lines. And that’s mostly about keeping the sacred blood flowing to the next generation.”

Harry was overwhelmed. Draco had been gay the whole time he’d known him. 

“Why have you never had a boyfriend?” He blurted.

Draco laughed wryly. “Not that I hadn’t tried, but I’m an arrogant arsehole with a big mouth and often times my firting looks like outright insults- some boys just don’t get it, I suppose. It’s alright, I get enough of what I need.”

Harry pursed his lips, dying to ask.

“What is it, Potter, I can tell you want to know something, with that constipated look on your face.”

Harry grinned. “Have you ever really shagged anyone, or was that just you messing with me?”

Draco looked far away again. “No, not really. I haven’t done anything beyond the blowjobs I exchanged with Olaf in the carriage during the Yule Ball. And he didn’t get to finish before Karlof and Severus interrupted us.” He grinned. “He was so mad. I finished him off under the table in the Slytherin common room- in a room full of lads, no less. No one caught on, except maybe Blaise Zabini. That bloke catches everything.”

“So you’ve never actually shagged anyone!” Harry laughed. “You had me going, the way you talked.”

“Not by choice anyway,” Draco muttered under his breath, face going blank.

Harry froze. “What?”

Draco shook his head and bit his lip. “I…”

“You don’t have to, you know,” Harry said quickly.

“I know,” Draco looked at him sharply. “Maybe I want to. I don’t even have to ask you to keep my secrets with all that Gryffindor pride smeared all over your face. But…”

He stretched his legs out and fumbled for another cigarette. Harry waited patiently. 

“After the occupation of the Manor last summer, there were a few former classmates that moved in. Terence Higgs and Marcus Flint, you remember them?”

“Yeah.” Harry remembered Higgs- he was the Slytherin seeker his first year, Flint was captain- that made them six years older. He didn’t like where Draco was going with this.

“At first, they acted like I was so important to the cause. They hung out with me in my quarters, talked about quidditch, flew broomsticks with me, we talked for hours about nothing. I thought I could trust them, like Vince and Greg. But…

“One day they asked if I wanted to play a game. I said alright- we’d been playing wizard’s chess and exploding snap for weeks- so I thought it would be one of those. They said they wanted to play a game of truth or dare. I agreed. Flint dared me to kiss Higgs. I was okay with it, but Higgs got very angry when I kissed him. Screamed at me that I was a faggot, punched me in the face. He stormed out of the room. Flint apologized, fixed my broken nose and got a bottle of rum from the kitchen to comfort me. I was drunk very quickly- I suspect he put something in my drink. He told me he’d found my _Quidditch Quarterly Hunks_ magazines under my bed, and he wanted to see if I was bent like him. I was excited- I’d always wanted to have sex with a bloke. I thought I wanted it up until I didn’t. I told him no, but he used a spell to bind me to the bed. Even when he was fucking me, I tried to convince myself I wanted it, that I’d asked for it, flirting and flouncing around in front of him. He held my face into the pillow and nearly suffocated me. I was injured at the end, and he assured me that was normal, and healed it like he did my nose. Even though I knew that wasn’t true, I tried to believe it. I told myself I was an adult, that I was in a relationship now, that it was good. I didn’t even consider the Dark Lord finding out. 

“One night, I was asleep and my wards dropped and someone walked in. It was Flint and Higgs. They took turns on me. I pretended I liked it, that I was grown. They beat me up pretty badly. I was finally flipped over and saw that the Dark Lord had watched the whole thing. I was terrified he was going to take a turn, but the nasty pervert just liked watching. That’s when he told me I was going to receive the Dark Mark, me lying in a puddle of come, naked. He left, and I was never bothered after that. I guess that was because they knew I was a dead man walking.”

Harry felt very sober in that moment. And murderous.

“I will kill them all,” he ground out. “I will fucking cut their dicks off and throw them away and kill them.” He felt his heart hammering in his chest, the darkness he knew he carried inside him welling up.

Draco stared at him. “No, Harry, it’s not worth it, why get yourself killed for me? It’s over. Severus found out and made a plan with Dumbledore to get me out. The Order wouldn’t take me at first, why should they? Severus had to tell them… about…” Draco covered his face with both hands. His shoulders started shaking. Harry wrapped his arms about the taller boy tightly, drawing him closer. Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck and sobbed openly. “I’m so… everyone knows, now, I bet they all do, and they’re laughing, saying I got what I deserved.”

“No, shh,” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his fringe aside. “No one knows, I’d have heard about it by now, not from you. I’m going to kill every last one of them, I swear to you, Draco Malfoy.” He meant every word. 

Draco sniffed loudly. “Shut up, you don’t even have a wand.” He let out a wild giggle, and Harry smiled a little and was soon laughing too. It was ridiculous, not having their wands. Being there at all. Harry laughed with tears streaming down his face, for the other boy who knew a good childhood but had it cruelly ripped away. 

They clung together for a long while, staring out into the night, taking comfort in the closeness, the buzz of the whiskey, the temporary bond they shared. 

The timer on the oven rang, startling them both. They laughed, untangled themselves and climbed back inside. Harry found some mitts and pulled the steaming chicken and potatoes and carrots from the oven. They were almost perfect- he removed the foil and set the broiler to give them a brown finish and set the table. 

Soon the bird was on the table, plates and silver set nicely, whiskey by their plates. Harry kind of wished he had a candle for the table, but shook that off. It was dumb, this wasn’t a romance, it was dinner.

They sat, Harry carving the chicken, Draco topping off the glasses.

“Fuck me sideways,” Draco mumbled around a mouthful of food, “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” he winked at Harry.

“Again with the sex jokes,” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Draco smirked and crammed another forkful in his mouth. “Speaking of sex…”

Harry waited, frozen, while Draco chewed and swallowed. 

“What say we go out and pull tomorrow night?”

Harry relaxed and scrunched his nose. “On a Tuesday? Doesn’t seem likely.” He didn’t voice his extreme lack of desire to not be on the other end of a bond while Draco and some random bloke had it off in the other room.

“Oh come on, we have nothing else to do, we have ID’s with false names, and there are pretty men and women out there dying to come home with us. You get a bird, I’ll get a bloke, I’ll even let you have the bedroom.”

Harry hated the idea. “Sounds good,” he said anyway, hating himself more than usual.

Draco bit into a potato. “Delicious! Better than house elves, but don’t tell them that, they’re very sensitive. Dipsy once ironed her ears because my Father had an allergic reaction to starfruit! It wasn’t her fault, but she was unconsolable.”

“I’m sure it’s the weed making it taste good,” Harry said blushing and looking down at his plate.

“What?” Draco exclaimed. “This rivals Molly’s potatoes! At least the ones she made at Grimmauld Place. Good thing that Kreacher didn’t cook, I daresay he would poison the lot of us if given the chance. Where did you learn to cook?”

“I learned from telly,” Harry said, sipping his drink. “And cookbooks. Aunt Petunia showed me the basics- how to work the stove and such. I burned only a few things, but mostly I did alright most nights.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “It must be awful to live without house elves. I can’t imagine. Did that cousin cook as well as you?” 

Harry shook his head. These were the follow up questions he’d been dreading. Somehow he now felt pretty okay about telling Draco everything. 

“It was just me. I cooked every meal, did the laundry, the cleaning. I was mowing the garden at ten, and even summers home from Hogwarts meant I was busy keeping the house.”

“Why didn’t you refuse to do it?”

“Oh, they’d beat me,” he said casually, actually feeling good about saying it out loud. “When I got my wand, they gave me my own room but I was locked in it with a warning that if I used magic, they’d report me and I’d be kicked out of school. It almost happened third year.”

“What the bloody hell, Potter! Why did you have to go back to that place? Why couldn’t you stay at Hogwarts over the summer break like the other kids with no homes? Even Moldy Voldy did as a tot from what I’m told.”

Harry sighed. “I’ve often wondered that. McGonigal explained that when Moldy killed my mother, she’d thrown herself in front of an AV meant for me. Her love became a powerful protection spell and when he tried again, it bounced off the spell, leaving the scar and killing Ol’ Snakeface. Or so they thought.”

“But it was just a piece of him, right?”

Harry nodded. “That’s what they think. He split his soul into pieces. That’s what they’re hunting, Horcruxes, pieces of his soul he split so he could come back if he was ever assassinated. No one but him knows what they all are, but Dumbledore suspected seven.”

“Fucking piece of shit is really several fucking pieces of shit. Wonder if his nose is one, hidden in his pocket.”

Harry burst into giggles. “Or his hair! I can see a cursed toupee’ leaping off of a store mannequin and attacking people!”

Malfoy was laughing loudly, dinner forgotten. “Oh Merlin, Harry, that’s hilarious. But seven? He had to kill someone to make each of them. That’s evil. So terribly evil.”

“We think it’s just seven. It’s a power number or some rubbish-”

“I take it you never got to that part in arithmancy,” Draco said dryly.

“I take it you quit taking defense of the dark arts,” Harry shot back with a grin. “Shut it. Anyway, The first one was glued to the back of professor Quirrell's head in first year. I killed him by touching him- my mother’s protection killed Quirrel, I mean, and that part of him flew away- I think that’s the him that we know today, before Wormtail used my blood to fix him and break my mum’s spell.” He ticked off his fingers. “So it’s Tom Riddle’s diary your dad slipped into Ginny’s cauldron, a ring Dumbledore found that ended up being what was later going to kill him, a missing Slytherin locket which has been located and destroyed without me, and four other things that we haven’t figured out yet. Or maybe they’ve had some luck by now. I don’t know, we’re stuck here.”

Draco looked thoughtful. “You think a Horcrux could be made out of something living or just objects?”

Harry shrugged and hid an internal wince. “I don’t really know too much about it,” he lied, “I don’t see why not- Quirrell kept Voldy alive on his body, so yeah, makes sense.”

Draco nodded. “I bet you a million galleons that the giant snake is one. Or has one in it- that thing is pure evil. I mean he speaks parseltongue to it, of course, but he has a weird relationship with that thing. Like, ew gross, kind of weird.”

Harry laughed at the image of Voldemort and Nagini snogging. Gross.

“Hopefully we can find them all and destroy them, then he’d be vulnerable to death. There’s not even discussion of locking him up in Azkaban. He’d be running the prison in a few hours.”

Draco held his whiskey aloft. “Well, cheers to the Order for doing what they do, and cheers to Noseless going into a grave. He won’t be missed.”

Harry clinked his glass with Draco’s. “Hear, hear!” He said boomingly, in an old posh voice.

The drank from their glasses, their eyes locked on one another. Harry felt something pass between them. Now that secrets were out, well, most secrets, it seemed a wall had fallen. 

“So,” Draco said, clapping and rubbing his hands together briskly. “What do you say to this Sassy Bitch helping you work on your Occlumency?”

Harry nodded. “Let’s do the washing up first.” He stood with his plate, smirking as soon as his back was turned. He heard Draco fumble his dishes and follow.

Harry filled the left basin with soapy water and dunked the scraped plates into it. He showed Draco how to scrub the dishes, which took a terribly amusing hour, and finally they went to work.

Draco was studying his pruney fingers with a scowl. Harry grinned at him. 

“Shut it, Potter,” Draco grabbed the whiskey and headed to the bedroom. Harry froze and watched him disappear into the room. He popped his head back out. “You coming, or is this a solo party?”

“You prat,” Harry said, blushing, but following him anyway.

The bed was made neatly, which was surprising. Draco sat with his legs tucked under him. Harry sat across from him, mirroring the pose. Draco sat the bottle on the side table next to a tube of what might have been toothpaste. He stared at Harry.

“Okay, I assume you remember something from Severus’s instruction, so let’s give that a go. I’ll go easy on you.”

Harry nodded, imagining a wall in front of him, blocking intruders. He closed his eyes, concentrating.

_Potter, that was too easy, are you even trying?_

Harry growled and focused on the wall being thicker.

_Try a door in the wall, an open door._

Harry winced and wiggled. He made a gap in his wall and put a thick heavy door there, standing open.

_Good. Now push me out and slam it shut._

Harry looked around for Draco, but he seemed to stay just out of his line of vision.

“Hold still, you prat,” he grumbled aloud.

Draco laughed. Try to feel for me, not look for me. Grab me with your mind and force me out.

Harry slowed his breathing and reached out, wrapping around the intruder, and forcing him through the door, slamming it shut. He waited there was silence.

“Did it work?” Harry asked, cracking an eye.

Draco was watching him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, perfectly. Now let’s get pissed and watch porn.” He grabbed the bottle as Harry sputtered indignantly.

“Relax, Harry, I was kidding. I don’t, nor will I ever, want to see a girl’s parts.” He shuddered. “All cocks for me, please and thanks.”

Harry was sure he was red as a firetruck. He took the proffered bottle and took a huge gulp. Draco took it back, doing the same. They passed it back and forth until it was gone.

Harry hiccuped. “Wow, that hit me fast.”

“Me as well.” Draco laid back on the bed, propped on the headboard. Harry crawled over and settled next to him.

“Now what?” Harry asked after a moment of drunken silence. His words sounded slurred.

“Now, you make out with me and call me pretty,” Draco sighed, leaning on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry giggled nervously. “I think you should know something, Draco.”

Draco lolled his head to the side. “I know, you like girls and whatever. Don’t pay me any mind, I’m just making conversation. And I’m horney. Your fault.”

Harry stopped breathing.

“If you hadn’t stopped me from wanking the other day, I’d be in a better mood.”

Harry sucked in air, laughing. “Whatever, you just wanked earlier when I was in the shower.”

“How could you possibly know that, Potter?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Were you listening?” His smile grew sneaky.

“Not on purpose,” Harry said quickly, “I thought you were sleepwalking or something.”

“Not as much.” Draco said, smirking.

“Not as much.” Harry repeated, crossing his arms. 

“So…” Draco drawled. “You wank in the shower?”

Harry shook his head. “Hard to wank in a cold shower.”

“Ah ha! I knew I hadn’t dreamed it! You were humping me in your sleep!”

“I was not!” Harry yelled a bit too loud. “I mean, I wasn’t doing it on purpose. Sorry.”

“I’t perfectly fine, Harry, but it just highlights my point that you need to get laid or have it off or something.”

“Well, it’s not like I wanted you to hear me doing it?”

Draco hummed. “Maybe _I_ wanted _you_ to hear me doing it. Maybe not. ANyway…”

Harry stared at him, too stunned for words. He swallowed. “I just don’t do it that much. It’s...dirty.”

Draco laughed delightedly. “That’s the point! It’s supposed to be dirty. Helps get all the wild sexual thoughts out of your head so you can act like a decent person.”

“I suppose so,” Harry conceded. “I just don’t like it very much.”

“Perhaps you’re doing it the wrong way.”

Harry shrugged. It was possible. When he wanked, it was fast and to get it over with. The enjoyment always felt like shame.

Draco casually examined his fingernails. “How about you do it now? I won’t touch, I just want to watch.”

“What? Are you insane?” Harry sputtered.

“A little,” Draco said, turning sideways to watch Harry. “You don't have to, I was just going to give you some pointers, tell you how to fix your technique. No big deal. We’ve had more than one circle jerk in the Slytherin dorms, I didn’t realize Gryffindors were such prudes.”

“Yeah, well I guess we are.” Were there circle jerks going on in his dorm? He’d ask Ron, but Hermione was more likely to know. “Okay,” Harry said, thinking Fuck It.

“Okay?” Draco looked surprised. “I was just having you on, mate, I wasn’t for real.”

“Now you’re going to have me off,” Harry said teasingly, unbuttoning his plaid trousers. Draco suddenly looked nervous. 

“Wait, I was just kidding, I don’t want you to do this and think that I made you- it was only a joke.”

Harry fake laughed. “Ha ha, too funny old chum, it’s a bit late to take it back.” He took stock of how drunk he was. They’d polished off the whiskey and smoked a whole joint. It sounded like a great idea, but would he regret it later?

“Here,” Draco was pushing a quill and parchment into his hand. “Write sober Harry a note, okay?”

Harry laughed and scribbled, _I, Harry Potter, chose to wank in front of one Draco Malfoy. For fun. And technique._

He handed it to Draco. The other boy chuckled. “It’s barely legible, but clearly is your shit handwriting. I can’t believe you’re doing this, it’s mad.” His face was flushed with drink or embarrassment, Harry couldn’t tell.

Harry took his belt off, opened the plaid trousers, and shoved them down to his knees. He looked over to make sure Draco was watching and slid down his boxers. His already half-hard cock sprung out, bobbing, filling as they watched it. 

“Well, it sure is different seeing it up close,” Draco breathed.

“You’ve seen my, erm...before?”

“Quidditch.”

Harry nodded in understanding. The showers by the pitch were communal and the boys tended to wander around undressed, wanting to wash the sweat off before dressing. He’d seen about every one of the Slytherin team’s penises, as well as his own team’s. For some reason, he could never make himself look at Ron’s, he was too much like a brother. 

Harry realized he should have felt that way about _all_ of the guys... if he was straight.

Harry lazily stroked himself under Draco’s watchful eye, rolling his foreskin over the tip, then bringing it back down. He could see Draco shifting in his pants as he watched, his own cock hardening. Harry slowed down, taking his time, enjoying watching his old nemesis watch him. Harry pulled his t shirt up and off, exposing his brown skinned chest and the sparse hair growing there. He knew under his clothes he was normally fit, and maybe after a few more meals, he’d look like that again.

Harry watched as Draco’s eyes raked over him, his pupils growing. Harry moaned lowly and arched his hips off the bed a little. Draco pushed on his crotch with the heel of his hand.

“Why don’t you do it too?”

Draco met his eyes sharply. 

Harry grinned. “It’s only fair,” he reasoned.

Draco nodded slowly and began pulling off his trousers. His expensive silk boxers were next, and the smell of his arousal hit Harry, making him moan again, his grip tightening.

Draco’s cock was larger than Harry’s, though not as thick, and curved delicately upwards, fully hard. Draco pulled his clothing completely off, lying next to Harry starkers. Harry took a moment to pull his trousers all the way off and sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco, skin touching on every upstroke. Draco was shamelessly watching Harry’s hand, so Harry focused on how Draco’s cock slid through his hand, how his crown peeked out of his foreskin and disappeared again. There were drops of precome forming there, glistening in the lamplight. Draco ran his thumb across the tip, spreading the wetness. Harry mimicked the motion, making Draco whisper, “fuck.”

Harry did it again, using the slickness to make the thrusts into his palm easier.

“Wait,” Draco said, rolling to grab the tube on the nightstand. “It’s lube, here.”

Harry held his palm out, and Draco squeezed a little in. “Spread it on your cock, makes it easier.”

Harry did as he was told, arching up into his hand. It felt amazing! He wondered why he didn’t do this all the time. 

Draco’s free hand began to gently roll his bollocks, massaging and tugging. Harry did the same. Draco would pinch his nipples, Harry would too. They soon fell in sync, pumping their fists faster and faster until-

“Fuck, Draco, I’m going to come!” Harry ground out between his teeth as the pleasure overtook him. The first couple of pumps shot out streaks of come onto his chest, then his eyes were closed, feeling the full effects. The wall was there, behind his eyes, so Harry flung open the door, barreling through, running into Draco’s magic, twisting together, feeling it when Draco came, the core in his magic reaching deep into Draco.

“Harry!” Draco gasped out. Harry opened his eyes and saw the release spurt out of the tip of Draco’s cock. He watched in amazement as load after load splattered on his bare chest. Draco was tugging and twisting, clutching at his balls with the other hand. He was red-faced, and blissed out, breathing with his lips parted, his lashes smudges against his cheekbones.

Harry thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He wanted so badly to touch, but he held still, waiting for Draco to return.

“Oh Merlin, Harry,” Draco panted. “What the blazes was that?”

“Erm...they usually call it an orgasm?”

“Ha ha funny.” Draco was looking around for something, grabbed up the Sassy Bitch shirt, and to Harry’s relief, didn’t put it on, but mopped up his chest. He handed it to Harry. He thought about rubbing his face in it for some odd reason, but he mopped up himself instead. He handed back the shirt and Draco took it, dropping it on the floor. They lay there naked for a while longer, enjoying the afterglow until Draco spoke.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” he giggled. 

Harry swept his eyes up and down Draco’s body, knowing he was being watched. He shrugged. “I’m glad we did.”

Draco snorted and tried to hook his dressing gown off the wardrobe knob with his toes. “You won’t say that in the morning, will you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said truthfully. “I hope I do. I liked it. I think I might not be entirely straight, you know.”

Draco gave up on his gown. “You don’t say,” he drawled. 

Harry nodded and ran his hand idly over his chest. “Yeah. I mean, that’s not new. I kinda have always been...a little...that way.”

Draco rolled and propped himself up on an elbow. Harry did the same to face him.

“What way?” Draco asked innocently.

“You know what way, you tosser.” Harry felt the old shame try to clutch its fingers into him, pulling him back and spreading a heat down the back of his neck.

Draco grinned. “Of course I know what way, but I want to hear _you_ say it.”

Harry nodded and bit his lip. He breathed deeply. “Gay. Or at least a bit. I think I fancy girls too, but I don’t know.”

“Was that so hard?”

Harry laughed and hit Draco with a pillow. “You poncey git!”

Draco wrested the pillow away and laughed, his face rosey and open. “Congratulations, Potter, you like cock.”

Harry hit him with a pillow again, and an epic battle of a pillow fight raged on until they were exhausted, covered in sweat and feathers, and Draco sat atop Harry, looking down at him.

“Well,” Draco sad with a grin. “What now?”

“We make out and you call me pretty,” Harry whispered, pulling Draco down by the shoulder, only a thin sheet between them. Draco fell forward, pulling off Harry’s crooked glasses and setting them on the bedside table. Harry could see him just fine with how close he was. 

Draco leaned in, resting his lips on Harry’s. They didn’t move, just let the warmth flow between them. Harry was already hard again, mostly from the naked pillow fight and watching Draco’s cock get hard after Harry went face first off the bed, bum in the air, legs spread suggestively. He might have done that on purpose, he wasn’t telling.

Draco parted his lips, kissing Harry slowly. Harry opened his mouth, swiping his tongue along Draco’s lower lip. It felt so good, so perfect, like all the kisses he had before were simply practice and this was finally the real deal. He moved his head to get a deeper angle, and Draco rolled his hips, lining up their erections. Harry could feel the heat and weight of Draco’s cock as it slid along his own. Harry reached between them, pulling the sheet away, and they moaned in tandem as their bare skin met. It was electric and hot and perfect. They rutted against each other slowly, sweat and precome making the slide easy, Draco rolling his hips down, speeding up. Harry parted his legs slowly, and Draco shifted a little to get between them.

The way Draco lifted Harry’s leg and wrapped it around his waist made Harry cry out in his mouth, the rutting becoming faster, harder. Soon they were just panting into each other’s mouths, Harry’s legs spreading wider and wider, the desire to be penetrated coming out of nowhere, and he came at the thought of them having actual sex, of Draco buried in his hole, filling him with come, fucking him and holding him tightly. Draco moaned and came with Harry, release pumping between them as they slowed down and kissed lazily, sucking gently on lips and licking into mouths.

Harry felt heavier and heavier as the moments went on until he wrapped his other leg around Draco and pulled his face into his neck. They lay like that, letting sleep take them, Harry hoping to Merlin he didn’t regret it in the morning.

 

******


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Trying to write an ending that didn't piss me off.

Harry had the distinct feeling someone was watching him. He cracked open an eye and found himself less than ten centimeters from Draco’s wide worried gray eye.

“Jesus, fuck, Malfoy,” Harry yelped in surprise. “You scared the shit out of me.” His head started pounding as he rolled to his back and groaned. “Fuck, I’m hungover.” He looked down at his nude form twisted in the sheets. “And naked. Hungover and naked. So?” he rolled back to smile at Draco. “You sleep good?”

Draco let out a gusty sigh and tackled Harry, pushing him to his back and hovering over his face. “I fucking freaked out, couldn’t sleep- I was so worried you’d have forgotten and would be angry with me.”

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s soft blond strands. “Nope, I remember. I’m annoyed about how much whiskey we drank- I think my head might fall off and I have to piss like a racehorse, but I remember what we did. Give me a moment, and maybe we can do it again.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he snogged Harry quickly before backing up and pulling a face. “Ew, brush your teeth, you taste like a pub ashtray.” Harry rolled and sat up, his feet touching the floor. He spied a glass of water and grabbed it, drinking deeply. 

“Harry,” Draco said quietly. “What are these?” Harry froze as a fingertip ran over the slight circular indentations on his back. 

Harry swallowed and bowed his head. “Burn marks, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, did those muggles do that to you?” There was carefully controlled rage in his tone.

Harry nodded. “It was a long time ago. He’s never done anything like it since. Just drop it.”

“I swear if he ever-”

“I said just drop it!” Harry stood and stomped from the room, slamming the bathroom door shut. He leaned on the sink for a moment, then took a piss. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He looked down- he had come crusted in his pubic hair, ew. He turned on the shower. When the water was warm, he stuck his head out of the door. “Draco, do you want a shower?”

Draco poked his head out of the bedroom. He was in the dressing gown, looking nervous. “You’re not angry with me?”

“No, idiot, come on.”

Draco flug off his gown and skipped across the room, doing a pirouette and landing in front of Harry, completely naked.

“Fuck, why did I find that so hot?” Harry mumbled.

“Because I am hot,” Draco said, smirking and brushing past Harry to get in the shower. Harry closed his eyes as their skin met down the length on their bodies, his dick taking notice when Draco rubbed shamelessly against his with his own. 

“Fuck, you are hot,” Harry repeated, grabbing Draco and pulling the taller boy’s face down and slotting their mouths together, kissing him deeply. Fuck, it was just as good sober!

Draco moaned into his mouth, pressing closer, pushing a thigh between Harry’s legs, until they were hard and sweating in the steamy bathroom doorway. 

“Come on,” Draco dragged Harry into the shower, positioning him under the water and washing his unruly hair for him, using his expensive hair potions. They smelled delicious. Harry closed his eyes as Draco massaged his scalp, then massaged his shoulders, then his arse, then his thighs. Harry could barely stand by the time Draco took Harry’s cock in his hand, the conditioner slicking his hand as he stroked him. Harry gasped and pulled Draco closer until their cocks pressed together. They intertwined their hands together and slowly pushed up into the channel they made. 

Soon they climaxed, leaning against each other to keep from falling in the afterglow. The water was turning cold as they washed up again and got out.

“That was a great way to start the day,” Draco said, wandering through the flat in his towel. He whipped it off, draping it on a chair and went to the kettle. “Tea?”

“Please,” Harry said, watching the muscles in Draco’s back ripple as he moved about the kitchen, fixing the kettle and pulling the tea bags out, as if he’d done it a million times. 

It hit Harry: It had been _two days._

“Merlin, Draco, it’s only been two days.”

“And?”

“And you’re making tea starkers after we just had it off together in the shower.”

“And?” Draco drawled the word out.

Harry shook his head in exasperation. “ _And_ don’t you think that’s odd? We were just ready to kill each other.”

“Correction: You were trying to kill me, I’ve never wanted you dead.”

Harry walked into the kitchen to wait for the kettle. And to maybe get a peek at naked Draco. “Never? Not even when I beat you in Quidditch?”

“Nope,” Draco popped the p and put sugar in his mug. 

“Hmm.” Harry thought about it for a moment. “Why?”

“Why did I never want to kill you?” Draco asked, sucking sugar off his fingertip.

“Yes, stop stalling. Why have you not plotted my demise, why have you not found me nearly irritating enough to snuff me?”

Draco smiled and tilted his head. “All relationships should have mystery in them, Potter.”

Harry bit his lip to hold back the starry-eyed smile he felt well up. “Relationship?”

“Of course, Potter, don’t be an idiot. If you’re planning on being this annoying as my boyfriend, I should seriously reconsider it.”

 

Harry pounced, his towel slipping off, wrapping himself around Draco from behind, pressing the length of their bodies together. 

Draco yelped in surprise. Harry kissed his back, licking and biting, and sucking a love bite into his porcelain skin. Draco relaxed into his arms, covering them with his own, his head lolling back and settling on Harry’s shoulder. They stood there in a soothing embrace until the kettle popped. Draco made their tea, black for Harry, and they settled on the sofa. 

“What would you like to do today?” Harry asked, sipping his tea. 

“Not sure. Perhaps a walk? Find a V- C- R? Or you could take me to a film?”

Harry looked around. “Okay, well, let’s get dressed and go find a newspaper. That’ll tell us showtimes.”

Draco jumped up, heading to the bedroom. “I have to find a cinema outfit.”

He disappeared, returning clad in a too small white t-shirt with a metallic yin yang symbol in blue and pink. He had on black jeans that hugged his arse and flared out at the thighs as they came to his feet. They were so long they covered his shoes.

Harry giggled as Draco twirled. “What the fuck have you got on?”

Draco struck a pose. “I saw some other kids our age when we were out, and this is what they were wearing. You want to blend, don’t you? Promise me something, Harry,” Draco hung on the back of the sofa by Harry’s head.

“Sure.”

“Please show me how to use a muggle razor. I need a close shave and so do you. Come on, let me tame that hair of yours. Have you any scissors?”

“Oh, hell no. You’re not getting near me with scissors- let’s stop at the barber’s and get a shave and haircut, alright? When Snape shows up later this week, we can beg for an untraceable wand, because honestly, I’m so dependant on it, it’s unreal.”

Draco flashed a smile and kissed his cheek, scampering off to the bedroom again. “Come put this on!” He yelled.

Harry rolled his eyes and wandered back into the bedroom, still enjoying being naked. He’d never walked around like that before. It felt freeing. “Did you buy clothes for me too?” Draco just grinned slyly.

“Nope, not wearing that,” Harry said, seeing what Draco held up. 

“Why not?” Draco batted his lashes, poking his lip out in an obvious ploy to get his way.

“Because I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Do I look ridiculous?” Draco countered.

“Absolutely.”

Draco clicked his tongue and placed a hand on his hip. “You won’t look ridiculous. Come on.” He threw the clothes at Harry and left the room. 

Harry held up the denims. They had rather large legs like Draco’s trousers, and the shirt was black and large with a big yellow smiley face with a bullet hole in its forehead. It wasn’t so bad. 

When he was dressed, he went back to the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. It sort of covered how skinny he was. 

“See?” Draco appeared behind him, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “You look delicious. Now come on. I want to go see a movie, lets go.”

********

After a very entertaining shave and haircut at a muggle salon (the barber shop was closed), a clean-shaven Harry and a very good-smelling Draco walked along a side street holding hands. It was unnerving to Harry to do something like that so openly, but he wanted to make Draco happy, so he did it anyway. 

He smiled to himself as he kept rubbing his now-smooth chin, thinking on how strange his life was- wanting to make his former enemy happy suddenly being at the top of his list of priorities.

“I honestly think this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” Draco sighed.

Harry stopped walking and pulled Draco to a halt. 

“Seriously? The happiest?” Harry was a little incredulous. “Were you using Lemon-genzy just now?”

Draco laughed and pulled Harry to start walking again. “No Potter, just having a moment. Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll injure yourself.”

Harry grinned at the back of Draco’s head and let himself be lead for a moment. Somehow the instant snarkiness made him feel more centered. 

“Happier than when your mum sent you those chocolates for Solstice first year?”

Draco snorted inelegantly. Harry grinned harder.

“Happier than playing Quidditch?”

Draco turned and gave Harry a sour look, but kept walking.

“Happier than-”

Draco spun and shoved Harry up against a wall, pressing his body up against the length of Harry’s.

“Yes, you idiot, happier than whatever you were about to say. I’m fucking over the moon right now, and if you don’t stop it this instant, I’m going to shut you up in some very interesting ways right out in public, in front of everyone.”

Harry looked up and down the deserted street and back at Draco’s smoldering eyes. He blinked. Draco was telling the truth.

_Merlin, is this what love feels like?_ Harry thought suddenly.

Draco stepped back and stared at Harry with an opened mouth. He fidgeted for a second before grabbing Harry’s hand and resuming their walk.

There was short tense silence and then Draco spoke.

“All my life I’ve had to be the good son, be perfect. I was rewarded with material things, but don’t get it wrong, I was loved as well. But there were conditions on that love. I have come to accept them, and that’s fine. I had grand plans of being the best at everything when I started at Hogwarts- but that didn’t exactly turn out that way did it?”

Harry was silent.

Draco continued. “Did you know I have the second highest marks of everyone in our year? It’s true. That- Granger is the top of our year, and my father took great pleasure in reminding me of that tragic fact.”

It was the first time Draco had mentioned his father. 

“And you...with your celebrity outshining me at every turn, your house beating Slytherin at everything, even if it wasn’t deserved- I’m still angry about second year’s house cup, you know- and your unfailing ability to have adoring fans and loyal friends-”

“I’m sorry,” Harry interrupted, taken aback, “were we even going to the same school? You still think I wanted to be a celebrity? Do you remember me having to fight a fucking _dragon_ because You-Know-Who wanted me dead? The media turning against me? My best friend doubting me? Don’t you act like you don’t know that.”

“You can’t even stop, can you,” Draco suddenly snarled, turning to Harry. “You can’t help but make this about you. Somehow be the victim in everything. ‘Poor Potter, can’t wipe his nose without the press finding out.’ Yes! I get it, you don’t want to be the Savior of the Wizarding World! I was fucking talking about what my father put on me!” He dropped Harry’s hand roughly. “I can’t even do this right!” Draco stormed off in the direction they were walking, and Harry stood there, gaping after him.

“Wait, Draco!” Harry jogged to catch up with him.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco growled, flicking sparks in Harry’s direction. One of them singed Harry’s arm.

“Ow! Fine, be an arsehole,” he called after Draco’s retreating form. He turned and stomped off in the direction of the flat, mumbling to himself.

“‘Poor Potter, can’t wipe his nose without the press finding out,’” he mimicked, “I swear to fucking god, stupid git is still jealous, even after-”

He stopped in his tracks and spun. Draco was nowhere in sight. Harry’s stomach dropped as he felt the physical feeling of the bond between them stretch and thin out. It twisted in his gut.

He sighed. He was being a selfish arsehole, after all. Draco was right, Harry should have listened to what he said instead of interrupting him. He was always jumping to conclusions, assuming the worst, and now he’d chased off Malfoy.

Harry started the trek back to the flat again, hoping maybe Draco just needed air and would return home shortly.

As he walked up the stairs to their floor, he thought on the word home.

He’d never thought of the Dursley’s house as home. The closest thing he’d ever had to a home was Hogwarts, and now that wasn’t even safe anymore. He looked around the dark living room and his gut twisted again. It didn’t feel right in there without Draco. They had created a space between them, a comfort of sorts, and the place wasn’t complete without him. 

Harry slumped down on the sofa and started rolling a joint. He’d save it for when Draco returned, and maybe they’d smoke together and he could apologize, and everything would go back to how it was when they were last together in the flat, preparing to go out. Maybe it had been a bad idea to go exploring, after all. Maybe they should be following Snape’s directions and stay put. 

He watched as the light changed in the room, going from a warm yellow to orange, then red, as the sun sank behind the buildings. Harry thought about how Draco looked in that light, ethereal and perfect. He belonged in that moment, he belonged with Harry. Draco needed him, didn’t he? To cook for him, to bicker with him, to care for him? To make Harry forget that he had to die soon? His stomach felt hollow and laid down on the sofa.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, feeling sorry for himself. He’d just rest a moment, and when he woke, Draco would be home and he could cook for him and everything would be better.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke with a start. Something was wrong. 

It was pitch black in the flat, and only the sounds of the street could be heard out the open windows. 

He turned to the bedroom and could make out the open door and the empty room beyond.

_Draco hadn’t come home._

Harry stood in a panic and grabbed a flannel shirt and ran out the door. He thundered down the stairs and out to the street. He headed in the direction he had seen Draco last, and cursed not having a broom. 

There were more people out on the street since the sun had gone down and cooled the air, and the pubs were open. 

He estimated it was about 11 pm, and he broke into a run as his panic grew. Something was wrong, something was happening.

He shot down the side street where Draco had walked away from him, and kept running, turning left at the next street instinctively. 

There, he could feel it, the pull. He ran toward the feeling blindly, chanting Draco’s name in his mind, running past a series of clubs, some with rainbow flags over the doors, loud techno house music pumping out of them.

He pushed past small clusters of men chatting on the sidewalk, accidentally running into a tall man with a mustache.

“Oi, mate, watch yerself!”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, looking around while he rubbed his shoulder where he’d bumped into the man.

“You alright, lad?” the man asked, his friends moving closer, looking concerned. “You lost your way?”

Harry looked back sharply, but saw they man wasn’t being sarcastic. “No, erm, I lost my b-boyfriend.”

He waited for shock or cruelty, but only found further concern.

“What’s he look like, maybe we can help,” a red-headed younger man offered, putting a light hand on Harry’s shoulder. Somehow he reminded Harry of Ron and he calmed down enough to speak again.

Harry’s stomach wrenched painfully. “Well, we sort of fought earlier, and I thought I’d go home and wait for him, but I fell asleep and I just woke up and he’s not there and I- oh, god…” Harry realized with horror that he might cry in front of these strangers.

“It’s okay, lad,” Mustache Man said, “do y’think he came this way? He know the neighborhood?”

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, I mean no- he came this way, but he doesn’t know the neighborhood.”

“What’s ‘e look like?” Asked another man nearby.

“Well, he’s taller than me, thin, sort of pointy- kind of, blue-gray eyes like a storm, kind of a ponce-”

“Oh, you mean Drew,” the ginger said, nodding. “Yeah, he’s just been here- lovely bloke, bit of a git, yeah?” He grinned and Harry’s body flooded with relief. 

“Thank fuck,” he breathed. “Where’d he go?”

Mustache pointed at a club across the block. “He went in there with an older bloke, he looked a bit pissed, you might want to go find him.”

Harry was already running across the street, yelling a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder.

The club was dark with swirling pink and blue lights and a packed dance floor. Harry looked around frantically, feeling the pull in his gut strengthen. He was in the right place.

He wove through the dance floor, scanning for blond hair, and moved toward the back, the pull of the bond stronger there. He headed to the loo.

There was a line, four or five blokes looking uncomfortable and shifting from foot to foot. How long had they been standing there?

“Is it occupied?” he yelled to be heard over the music. He got nods and rolled eyes as the panic grew. He pushed two younger men out of the way and backed up.

He charged the door, yelling a _diffendo_ as he threw his shoulder into the door. It exploded on contact, and he fell into the bathroom, landing on the scummy tile. He jumped to his feet and saw Draco.

A larger man had Draco propped up on the sink, snogging his neck, his hand down Draco’s trousers.

Harry growled a _stupify_ automatically and the bloke fell away, upsetting Draco’s precarious balance and dragging him to the floor as well. 

Harry caught Draco’s head before it hit the filthy tile and dragged him away from the stranger and leaned him on the stall door. He turned back to the stunned muggle. He mumbled a counter-curse and the muggle relaxed a little and looked around in a daze.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he growled. “Or I’ll fucking take your head off.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” the muggle protested, trying to stand and falling. “He’s of age, I saw his ID!”

“You were _touching_ him!” Harry screamed back, feeling his magic build. The mirror over the sink started to rattle. In it Harry saw a group of wide-eyed muggle men standing in the destroyed doorway.

Fuck, he needed to get them out of there. He turned and pulled up a half-conscience Draco and wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“Come on, Dra- erm, Drew, let’s go, you’re gonna have to help me here.”

Draco mumbled incoherently and got his feet under himself to prop up on Harry. He was definitely more than pissed. The muggle must have poisoned or drugged him.

“What did you give him?” He demanded from the muggle.

“Nothing, mate!” the muggle looked terrified. “He was at the pub across the street first and I think he took some E. He’s the one who pulled _me_ in here!”

Harry’s blood boiled. There was no telling what kind of Extacy Draco had taken. Or what kind of effect it would have on a wizard’s system. He glowered at the man on the floor and dragged Draco out. A few of the men waiting for the loo looked concerned, some looked annoyed and pushed through to use the loo. One man was helping up the muggle off the floor.

Harry pulled the drugged Draco from the crowded pub and across the street to head to the flat.

“Oh, no, is he alright?” the ginger asked as he rushed to Harry to help prop Draco up from the other side. Harry shook his head, grateful for the help. The ginger walked with Harry and Draco down the street until the were out of earshot from the clubs.

“Harry James Potter, what the bloody fuck are you doing down here? And with Draco bloody fucking Malfoy?” the ginger whispered furiously. Harry nearly dropped Draco.

“Wha?” 

“I’m Charlie, I don’t think we’ve met, yeah? You weren’t at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” 

Harry had to prop himself and Draco against the wall to calm down from the heart attack he nearly had.

“Charlie Weasley,” Harry breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing!” Charlie pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Harry. He took it with shaking fingers.

“I’ve been back in town working with Order for some time,” Charlie stated as he lit Harry’s smoke with a silver lighter. “Over here taking a break, you know? Didn’t expect to run into Draco Malfoy in a gay pub, that’s for sure. But he didn’t know me, so I played it off. Why are you out of the safehouse?”

“Well…” Harry’s face burned. “Everything I said was true. We, erm…”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Charlie chuckled. “Who am I to judge who you date? It’s just unexpected. I had an eye on Draco when he showed up, but I got distracted and didn’t see him cross the street. What’s he taken?”

“Extacy,” Harry sighed. This was so fucked. Snape was going to murder him if something happened to Draco.

“How about we keep this little encounter to ourselves, eh? I’d be in just as much trouble as you if someone in the Order found out I got too pissed at a pub to keep an eye on Malfoy.” Charlie smiled crookedly. Harry smiled back. 

“Of course,” Harry responded. “Just, could you not tell Ron…?”

“It might come as a shock to you that my brother might already have that bit figured out. He said you two were in close quarters the last time I saw him, and that you’d be shagging by the end of the summer. Hermione guessed sooner than that. I’m guessing ‘Mione won that bet, am I right?” Charlie smiled suggestively. 

Harry blushed harder and tightened his grip around Draco’s waist. “Yeah. I dunno, Charlie, I think I love him. That’s so fucked up. Tell me it’s fucked up, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, a bit. The bloke’s an absolute git, but a rolicking good time when he’s drunk. I was surprised, seriously. But he’s alright, I guess. He’s making some serious sacrifices by being here, you know. His father is ill and his mother still trapped in the Manor and there’s little to be done about it.”

“What’s wrong with Lucius?” 

“They believe it to be some kind of spell sickness. He’s been through much in his short time in Azkaban, and he didn’t exactly win favor with the Dark Lord when his son defected. He is holding it together and taking the torture to keep Narcissa safe, but if he...you know.”

Harry felt terrible. He just wanted to get Draco home and tuck him in to bed.

“I can’t walk you home- no one’s supposed to know where you are for your safety, and I’m shit at Occlumency.”

Harry smiled and shifted. Draco was heavy. He put his cigarette out and tried to manhandle him to an easier position. Draco moaned and wrapped around Harry in his stupor, grinding against Harry’s leg. His cock was hard. Harry’s blush deepened even further.

Charlie chuckled and pulled a potion bottle from his pocket. 

“Here, give him this. He’s not going to sober up fully for a little while, but he’ll be able to walk home.” He uncorked it and helped pour it down Draco’s throat.

Draco blinked his eyes open and saw Harry, a dopey smile breaking out over his face. 

“Harry! There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you! I have to tell you something...I don’t remember what exactly, but it was good, I think.” 

Harry rolled his eyes as Charlie smiled in amusement. 

“Come on,” Harry pulled Draco to a standing position and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Charlie. Charlie winked and headed back down the sidewalk toward the clubs again.

Harry and Draco began the long walk home, Harry keeping Draco upright, and Draco doing everything in his power to feel up Harry as they walked. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Draco moaned in his ear, unsuccessfully trying to get his hand into Harry’s pants for the third time. Harry would have been really angry, except it felt like being angry with a puppy at the moment.

“Draco, Draco, Draco,” Harry quipped back as he batted Draco’s hand away from his flies and kept walking forward.

“You really mean what you think? I mean thought? Because, ditto.” Draco smiled and nuzzled in Harry’s neck. He’d been mumbling incoherent things for a few blocks.

Harry ignored him and kept them moving. He could see their building now, and was eager to get upstairs and drop the wanker on the floor and get something to drink.

“Ditto, Harry, I said, ditto.” Draco drawled, licking Harry’s ear as he spoke. “It means ‘me too’, you know, I just learned it.”

“Alright, shut it, Draco, we’re almost home.” The ear licking was turning him on a little, and he needed to get away from this overly-amorous version of Draco before he did something he shouldn’t. 

“Home,” sighed Draco, “home is where Harry Potter is. When Harry Potter leaves, it’s no longer home, Harry Potter takes home with him wherever he goes.”

“You sound a bit like Dobby,” Harry chuckled.

“Oh?” Draco sniffed. “Is Dobby madly in love with you too? I should think that’s fierce competition, ‘cause Dobby can cook really well and is a very good housekeeper, but it’s rather taboo, don’t you think? But I’m a demon in the sack, so there’s that.”

“Madly in-?” Harry spluttered, hauling Draco up the stairs. “Nevermind that, you’re drunk. And high, I think, so shut up and let me feed you and put you to bed.”

Draco sighed dreamily. “My hero,” he cooed. “I used to wish you’d save me from the Manor, did you know? That you’d fly in on your broomstick, pull me out of the madness and sorrow and we’d fly away together, off into the sunset. But you never did.” Draco’s voice turned sad. Harry didn’t know if he could stand a sad, drunk Draco.

“But I’m here now, without a broomstick, but I’ve got crisps and tea, so that’s even better.”

He dropped Draco in the comfy chair by the phone. Draco tried to pull Harry into his lap, but he got away. He shifted his erection and went to the cupboards to get the tea started.

“My hero,” Draco repeated, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down, along with his pants, grasping his cock and stroking slowly.

“Draco! Put your cock away!” Harry faced the wall and bit his lip, hard. He would _not_ give into temptation, not even to watch.

“Harry,” Draco moaned. Harry could feel a connection open in his mind, and a sudden euphoric feeling swept through the door, running lovely fingers of pleasure all over his body. He gripped the counter and closed his eyes, facing the wall. He could feel an invisible hand running over his cock as the the bond pushed in all the sensations from the drugs Draco was experiencing. It all felt so beyond good, Harry didn’t have the will to slam the door.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry shuddered.

“It’s okay?” Draco breathed. He sounded more sober, but the feeling didn’t stop. “I’m not going to stop, but you can close the door at any time, but I want to make you feel good.”

Harry stuttered and cleared his throat. “I-it’s okay, if it’s okay with you…it’s bloody amazing.” Harry clutched the counter harder.

“Harry, watch me,” Draco moaned.

Harry looked over his shoulder, his cock throbbing at the sight of Draco now without a stitch of clothing on, legs hooked over the arms of the chair, exposing himself to Harry’s watchful eye.

“Sit in a chair and watch,” Draco demanded.

Harry scrambled to pull a chair from the dining table and drag it over closer to Draco.

“I want to watch you come watching me wank,” Draco smirked and rolled a nipple between his fingers.

Harry moaned and yanked his trousers and pants down, leaving them half on, and grabbing his cock again. The waves of Ecstasy rolled over him as he watched Draco fondle himself. 

Draco sucked two fingers into his mouth and licked over them, his tongue undulating sensually, making Harry curse and squeeze his balls with his free hand. 

Draco gasped. “I felt that, do it again.” Harry did, his pleasure rising. 

Draco took his wet fingers and rubbed his hole, moaning and spreading his legs wider as he pushed in his middle finger. Harry felt the finger breach his own hole, tugging a little at his rim, stretching it before adding the second one. The sharpness of the pain was dulled by the drug, and heightened the rush of pleasure coursing through Harry.

_You like that, Potter?_ Draco teased in Harry’s mind in his poshest voice. _You like it when I’m in your mind?_ His face softened. _I promise you I will never hurt you, yeah? I will never take anything from your memories without you letting me. Gods, I want it to always be like this, you wide open to me, trusting me. I need you so much._

Harry shuddered at Draco’s words, relaxing his mind and letting Draco in further, closing his eyes and seeing him standing there, hand out. Harry dropped his cock and held his hand out in his mind and when they touched, something burned brighter, hotter than before. Harry and Draco in his mind were nude, and began to writhe in a fluid movement, Draco’s cock slipping into Harry easily- the dual sensation of Mind-Draco fucking him, and Real-Draco fingering him was incredible. He was so close already. 

“Draco, I’m going to come,” he gasped. 

“Ditto,” Draco ground out, fucking Mind Harry harder, fingering himself deeper. 

Harry threw his head back as the waves of pleasure crashed around him as Draco came, pulling Harry with him, the feeling multiplying upon itself, lasting forever. 

There was a white wash over his eyes and Harry looked around himself, knowing he was now standing inside Draco’s mind. He looked to his right at a very much alert and nervous-looking Draco still holding his hand. Harry beamed at him.

Draco’s face relaxed in relief. “I’m sorry for what I put you through, Harry-”

“It’s alright, we made it home-”

“I meant for _everything_ I put you through.” 

Harry watched as memories flashed by, all of interactions at school between them. He saw himself through Draco’s eyes and he looked haughty and arrogant sometimes, and exposed and sad other times. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around the taller man. 

More memories swirled around; of Draco watching from afar, his disappointment as he lost another quiddtich match to Harry, Draco kicking Harry on the train. Harry held him tightly, trying to keep him safe from his own memories, his own sadness. Then the memories changed- Draco looking down at a newspaper photo of Harry, running his finger along his outline, then in bed with the curtains closed, wanking with Harry’s name on his lips-

The scene changed and Harry saw a room with two older boys, pulling off Draco’s clothing-

Harry slammed the door shut and opened his eyes. Draco was sitting, still naked, looking under his eyelashes back at Harry.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

Harry jumped to his feet, nearly falling over his trousers, yanking them up as he crossed to Draco, falling to his knees in front of him.

“You don’t have to be sorry- I’m sorry for leaving you, I should have followed.” He picked up Draco’s hands and kissed them each, nuzzling his cheek into one.

Draco smiled softly. “I should have followed you home.”

Harry stood, pulling a now pretty sobered up Draco to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stripped and got in with him, washing him head to toe, then himself, and dried them off. Harry brought Draco to the bed and pulled the blankets over them. They snuggled together, touching as much as possible, and fell into a deep sleep. 

********


End file.
